


talk nice

by w_anderingheart



Category: EXO (Band), K-pop, Red Velvet (K-pop Band), f(x), 소녀시대 | Girls' Generation | SNSD
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, Jongin has a crush, M/M, Romance, but i love a good happy ending uwu, kyungsoo is his manager, this is an au where kai is a solo artist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-23 10:54:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 41,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23176993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/w_anderingheart/pseuds/w_anderingheart
Summary: Top-idol Kai doesn’t know what to expect when he gets a new manager, but it certainly isn’t Do Kyungsoo. Maybe by accident, maybe by fate, Kim Jongin unlearns what it means to be Kai, and wonders if what he really wants most is to live life in colour.
Relationships: Do Kyungsoo | D.O/Kim Jongin | Kai
Comments: 89
Kudos: 440





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi! i started writing this in 2015 and it kept nagging me to be written so here we are, five years later o.o
> 
> warnings for: internalized homophobia (+pretty open discussions of homophobia), implied sexual content, brief mentions of an anxiety disorder
> 
> with everything happening in the world rn, i've had a lot of spare time to just write for fun and this was so much fun to finish for y'all. this is seriously the longest fic i've ever posted lol (covid19 quarantining is good for productivity?? i guess?) i hope you guys enjoy it ♡
> 
> title from the song "talk nice" by no rome!  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VnRrSdrcPzY&ab_channel=NoRomeVEVO
> 
> stay safe out there, friends! and happy reading ^_^

The chill comes too early this year. It’s the start of October and Jongin can see his breath as he hustles through the usual Hongdae night crowd. Even in the middle of the week, the buskers have the streets packed, and Jongin probably should have worn a mask. He’d taken a taxi straight from the company to Hongik exit 9, which probably wasn’t the smartest idea with this kind of foot traffic, but it was hard to bring a car into the side streets and Jongin was trying to be as invisible as possible. So, he hunches his shoulders, pulls his cap further down his face, and walks briskly until the brightly lit sign of JEKYLL comes into view.

It’s near the edge of the clubbing street, close enough to get some spillover from the night clubs on really busy nights. Tonight isn’t one of those nights, but it’s still crowded. It usually is around this time, though no one that’s Jongin’s demographic so he feels safe enough taking his cap off.

On the small stage at the front, there is a duo he’s never seen before, with a box drum and a guitar. They croon out smooth lyrics, voices lilting around a melody that takes Jongin several beats to recognize as his own song. Their arrangement changes the heavy pop track into an easy, acoustic folk tune. Jongin makes a mental note of them. Maybe he’ll introduce himself if he likes the rest of their set.

He slips into the edge seat at the bar, farthest from the throngs of people. The air in here swelters, like the noise outside, except thicker and much less comfortable. Still, Jongin’s come to like it—the atmosphere, the discomfort, even. The way he can disappear here, and no one looks at him.

It’s barely a minute before a clear glass slides across the counter in front of him. Jongin eyes it, and wrinkles his nose.

“You’re very funny,” he says, shaking his head, and Yixing’s on the other side of the bar, winking at him. “Club soda. What am I, sixteen?”

“Yes.” Yixing doesn’t look tired, eyes bright and shirt pressed. It’s only a few minutes after midnight, which means he’s already been on shift for three hours. Maybe it’s the dancer’s stamina, Jongin muses, although Yixing doesn’t really dance anymore.

“Whiskey, Yixing,” Jongin _tsks_. He drinks the soda anyways. “Whiskey. Come on. Cut me some slack.”

“You have an early morning tomorrow,” Yixing replies. He says it happily. He says everything happily, like he thinks it will make a person feel better, no matter what he is saying, as long as he says it with a smile. It’s one of those things that makes Jongin want to fold Yixing up and keep him in his pocket at all times.

Jongin grumbles into the glass. “I have an early morning _every_ day. What difference does it make?”

Yixing wipes the spills away around his drink station. “Which begs the question—why are you even here?”

“Great point,” Jongin concedes. It’s because he likes JEKYLL. It’s stuffy and dark in the best way. Jongin can blend into the noise, instead of being at the centre of it. “The music is always good.” There’s that too.

“Yikes, don’t let anyone hear you saying that,” teases Yixing. “You’re supposed to be an EDM kind of guy. Or, you know, that body-rolling R&B stuff.”

Jongin stops him with a laugh, and rolls his eyes. He likes all sorts of music, especially the stuff he finds lurking in Hongdae, lighting up grimy bars like JEKYLL. Bigger stages don’t always mean better artists. Jongin would know.

“I like them.” He nods his head towards the stage. The duo bows and walks off, and for a few moments the spotlight goes out, making the bar even dimmer than it already had been. Yixing flashes him a grin. In the darkness, Jongin barely sees more than Yixing’s teeth. “I knew you would. I’m happy you were able to catch them.”

“They’ve played gigs here before?” Jongin asks. It’s been a while since he’s been able to come by.

“Yeah, a few times,” replies Yixing. “They like re-arranging your stuff, actually. They play at least one of your songs every set.”

“Huh,” says Jongin. “It sounds totally different.”

For all his complaints, he’s finished the glass of club soda. His fingers tap about restlessly now, waiting for music. “I kind of liked it slowed down.”

“Maybe you should release a ballad next,” Yixing chuckles, but it’s not mocking.

“Don’t get your hopes up. You know how it is,” Jongin says with a shrug. On the stage, the spotlight comes back on and the next act is a solo female singer with a keyboard. “I don’t pick the music.”

The young woman is great too, Jongin thinks. She has a deep, throaty tone with a rasp that makes him think of sandpaper. In a good way, like smoothing down his ear drums.

“Are you friends with that duo?” Jongin turns back to Yixing. He has the sleeves of his bartender’s button down rolled up. The muscle lines of his forearm appear and disappear as he rubs at the counter. Jongin looks away again.

“More or less. We’re on a first name basis.” Yixing pauses. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I liked their stuff. I guess I just want to tell them.”

Yixing raises an eyebrow. “Sure,” he says, “I can catch them on their way out later.”

Jongin nods. “All right.”

“You know—“ Yixing fiddles with his cloth, stopping. Then the tight lines of his face soften again and he smiles. Jongin’s skin feels warm. The bar’s probably gotten a little busier. He should tell Yixing to consider lowering the thermostat.

“What?”

Yixing laughs. “Nothing. It’s just sometimes I think about how off your stage image is from your actual self.”

Jongin unzips his windbreaker. It’s too hot in here. He kind of wishes he could catch the cool breeze from outside again. “Don’t say that too loud,” he chuckles softly. “You’ll ruin my image.”

“Right,” Yixing’s dimple curves deep into his cheek when he smiles. “Well, put your hat back on because the singer keeps looking this way. Better safe than sorry,” he warns. He finally does slide over a shot of whiskey. He always does. Jongin smiles back and rejoices with a fist in the air.

“And is that windbreaker all you wore? It’s freezing today, Jongin,” Yixing pouts, disapprovingly. “You’ll get sick.”

“Ah, and then thousands of people will trend ‘Get Well Soon’ for me across SNS,” Jongin counters lightly.

The woman finishes her first song and Jongin applauds along with everyone else. “Don’t worry about me, hyung,” he adds, more solemn, smiling at Yixing serenely, if just to reassure him, and even slips his cap back on to appease him. Yixing walks around the counter and takes the seat beside Jongin. Jongin can smell his cologne now, light and sweet.

“So what’s been keeping you away lately?” Yixing asks. He has the same habit as Jongin, that inability to stay still, like there’s a constant melody playing in his head.

“I’ve been manager-less for a week already,” Jongin says. “Junmyeon-hyung is moving to the US with his fiancée. Company hasn’t gotten his replacement yet, so I’m supposed to be under arrest.” He laughs. “But if I had to spend _one_ more day trapped in my apartment, I was really gonna go lose it.”

“Oh. Right. Are you…” Yixing shakes his head. “Ah, never mind. And here I thought you just missed me.”

Jongin’s smart remark gets stuck in his throat somewhere. He reaches out and pats Yixing’s hand instead. It suffices when Yixing opens his palm, and squeezes back.

“Anything new and kicking in the underworld?” Yixing teases.

Jongin shakes his head. “Just the usual. Can’t remember the last time I slept a full night,” he says, tiredly. “Oh. New choreographer. They hired a new one for my comeback.”

“Hmm,” Yixing nods, tapping his long fingers aimlessly on the countertop. “Any good?”

Jongin shrugs, vaguely. “Yeah. She’s alright.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.” Jongin watches Yixing’s legs bounce up and down in time with his imaginary beat. He has nice legs, Jongin remembers, from their trainee days.

“Could you…” The cap on his head is itchy, pressing into the sides of his skull. He wishes the woman’s sandpaper voice could smooth out his headache too. “Like you did last time, could you help me brush up the choreography? Some parts are still pretty messy when I do them.”

Yixing nods, with no hesitation. “Of course.”

He would have made a really good idol. That’s what Jongin believes; the kind of celebrity that would do well on variety shows, charm kids and grandmothers, and everyone in between. Jongin used to wonder why Yixing had quit after three years of training.

He thought… it could have had to do with the way things were back then. Between them. But it hadn’t been that. Yixing is too sweet to have left or something like that. It wasn’t until after Jongin had debuted that Jongin began to understand, to realize, that between the two of them, Jongin was the one who needed Yixing, and not the other way around.

“I saw Kai’s latest antics on Naver the other day,” Yixing detours, and he says it teasingly—happily, like he says everything—but there’s that trace of concern hidden in the tips of his smile that makes Jongin’s insides curl in a bit.

“For the record, I didn’t punch him. On purpose.” Jongin’s fingers draw circles around the rim of the whiskey glass. There’s not enough alcohol in his system for conversations like this, he thinks. “It was an accident.”

“Hmm,” Yixing says again, but with an entirely different tone. There are a lot of things Yixing doesn’t say aloud, as if he makes a conscious effort to only choose the things that he can say happily. The reason he left the record label company is one of them – a thing he’ll never say aloud because he doesn’t really have to.

“Your fist _accidentally_ punched him in the face?” Yixing reaches out and pokes Jongin’s cheek.

Jongin opens his mouth and bites down on his teeth like he’s going to eat Yixing’s finger. Yixing laughs, lips stretched wide so that his dimple appears at the side of his mouth. He pokes at Jongin’s cheek even harder. “Yes,” Jongin replies, tired.

Music, to Yixing, didn’t need a grand stage or a full stadium. He wanted music, but in this business, to get something meant to lose something.

Jongin thinks that that’s what Yixing probably sees in Jongin now—an old friend straying away from himself. But what Jongin doesn’t know how to tell Yixing is that maybe that’s what he wants—to lose himself; to stray so far away that his old ghosts won’t be able to catch up with him.

⊰ ⊱

The morning after JEKYLL, barely 9AM, he’s already in the practice room. Jongin throws a bouncy ball against the mirror, in time with the analog clock ticking on the wall. He’s on his back, legs spread as he tosses the ball between them. Soojung eyes him disapprovingly every time it bounces.

“You’re going to break the mirror and it’ll probably come out of your paycheck or something,” she muses. She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, even though she’s in a skirt. Jongin makes a point of not looking, although it’s not like their friendship has those sorts of discomforts.

“Ugh you sound like Joonmyeon when you scold me,” Jongin whines. “One and the same.”

She looks up from her phone. “Speaking of. How is he?”

Jongin shrugs. “He sent me his wedding invitation in the mail, but that’s about it. Time zones make it hard to actually talk.”

Soojung sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. They’ve dyed it a bright red for her next album. It’s an aggressive shade, vibrant and unnatural. Somehow, she makes it work. “I’m kind of going to miss oppa.”

“Kind of?” Jongin teases. The mirror makes a hollow ringing noise every time the ball hits. “You had the biggest crush on him.”

Through their reflections in the glass, she throws him a defensive glare. “Yeah, right,” she pouts. “You say that like you weren’t just as enamoured with him as the interns downstairs.”

Jongin ignores that. “So that means you’ll go to the wedding?”

She huffs, making a face. “Probably not,” she mumbles. “I know it’s still months from now, but even if I could, you think they’d let me go to America? Come on.”

“Bigger chance for you than me,” Jongin points out. “They’re barely letting me out of my apartment these days.”

But Soojung’s right. They probably wouldn’t let either of them go. And definitely not _together_. Imagine all the rumours. And the time they would waste that could be used for extra practices and more TV show appearances. He won’t even bother asking. Joonmyeon probably sent him the invitation more out of formality than anything else.

Soojung scrolls through her phone again. “I hate celebrity news,” she says. Jongin laughs.

“Why are you always on it if you hate it so much?” Bounce. Catch. “It’s where people’s brain cells go to die.”

“I thought that was specifically Dispatch.”

“Oh no, there’s a completely different place in hell for Dispatch.”

Soojung raises a fist, like she would smack him if he were closer. “You should start watching your mouth. You’re already in the bad books.”

Jongin’s tailbone starts aching so he sits up, eyeing his reflection. The bags under his eyes are deep and purple, but the makeup artists will find a way to cover it up. “So, what’s on the news?”

She scoots her butt forward and settles next to him in front of the room, handing him her phone.

Thumbing across the screen, he barely reads the article. Same old, same old. The headlines sound extremely sure of themselves. There are even engagement speculations this time. “Yeah well,” he says, tossing it back to her. She catches it, lips pursed tightly. “What else is new in this world?”

Her eyebrows are drawn together as she stares back at her phone. Jongin thinks she looks frustrated. He can’t understand why, though. “Kai and Krystal is the number one search hit,” she states. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“I’d say good. We were at the top of the search engines last month, too.” Jongin had went over to Soojung’s apartment out of boredom one weekend and the PR department was swamped for three days straight.

He starts bouncing the ball on the hardwood. It jumps a lot higher. “It made my music streams go up for a whole week. Good publicity.”

“Publicity, huh?” Their eyes meet briefly but she looks away before Jongin can make a silly face at her. Moving against the wall, she crosses her legs, fixes her skirt. “We did that Mnet interview backstage yesterday. I think that’s what all the fuss is about.”

“Oh yeah.” Jongin remembers having to memorize the interview script in five minutes.

“Well, ring the wedding bells, I guess we’re getting married,” she mumbles, deadpan, finally closing the article. It is good publicity, though. The company likes to sell them as the industry’s official unofficial couple, which is pretty far off the margin than what they really are, but still much easier to sell than Soojung’s debut girl-next-door image, which the PR team abandoned pretty quickly.

Jongin smacks the bouncy ball with the palm of his hand, like he’s trying to play basketball. It works several times, until he inevitably misses and it bounces off his eyeball. Soojung laughs, her expression softening, although that’s probably because Jongin’s eyes are starting to water and everything has gone blurry.

“Idiot,” she says. ~~~~

“The idiot you’re _marrying_. Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Jongin taunts lightly. He reaches over to ruffle her hair, already anticipating the light slap back.

She blows her messed up bangs out of her eyes. “Shut up,” she grumbles down at her cuticles, frowning, probably because her nail polish has to be re-done.

“Kai and Krystal,” Soojung’s manager walks into the practice room, motioning for them. “Van’s here.”

With a huff, Jongin stands, lending a hand to Soojung. She bats it away and pulls herself up. “Save it for a camera, Kai,” she says airily, and Jongin chuckles, but if she laughs with him, she turns around too fast for him to see.

⊰ ⊱

When they arrive, the stylists whisk them away, armed with their makeup and hairspray. Within the hour, they’re on standby waiting for the photographer to set up.

As they wait, Jongin’s limbs sway back and forth to the new choreography he still has to engrain into his muscle memory. Soojung, arms crossed, is drumming her fingers, watching the crew adjust the lighting fixtures. She has long fingers. Piano fingers. Like Yixing.

“Kyungsoo-oppa?” She hollers to someone behind Jongin. Turning, Jongin spots the man who bows back, a small smile on a small face. As he approaches, he bows again, only the slightest dip of his head and hunch of his shoulders. If Jongin bowed like that to someone, Joonmyeon would scold him for being impolite.

Kyungsoo’s smile is tight and distant, but it doesn’t drop. “Hello, Soojung.”

“What’re you doing here? It’s been forever,” she greets. “I thought you’d never leave that cave of yours.”

“The vocal room is not a cave,” he chastises, tone like a teacher’s, and _ah_ , Jongin remembers who he is now.

“Well, I’d never thought I’d see you in broad daylight,” Soojung teases, and Kyungsoo’s tight smile loosens just a bit. He’s got the most curious proportions, Jongin thinks. Big eyes, full lips, but his face is tiny like the rest of his body. He steps forward a little, and the top of his neat, black hair comes up just above Jongin’s shoulder.

He extends a hand to Jongin. “Do Kyungsoo,” he says. Jongin shakes it. Short fingers, but firm handshake.

“I know you. You were a vocal coach a few times, when I was a rookie.”

Kyungsoo nods. “I mostly work in PR now, but yes, I’m surprised you remember. Kai-ssi, yes?”

“Call me Jongin,” he says. Whenever someone calls him Kai, he feels the need to straighten his back, smile a little wider and make clever comments. It throws him off to hear the name out of context. Or rather, out of head-to-toe, sparkling get-ups that light him up like a disco ball on stage.

“Jongin-ssi,” Kyungsoo says again, “I’m Joonmyeon’s replacement.”

The photographer waves them over and Soojung slips away first towards the set. Jongin nods. “Nice to meet you, then. And just Jongin is fine,” he says, on impulse. Then decides to add, lightheartedly, “Just a warning, I’m told I’m difficult to manage.”

Kyungsoo blinks, owlish and not laughing. “We’ll see, I suppose.”

Jongin joins Soojung in front of the camera. They’ve done so many of these that Jongin could probably pose in his sleep. He’s tempted to for a moment (they could Photoshop his eyes open, anyways) because he hadn’t gotten enough sleep last night. He never really does. Yixing had been right about the whiskey of course. Bad idea for early mornings.

Between poses, Soojung sneezes and there’s a scuffle to fix her hair. Jongin looks past the camera and finds Kyungsoo waiting patiently, large eyes unblinking. He’s not like Joonmyeon in a lot of ways, Jongin can already tell. For one, Joonmyeon was a sweetheart who made timely coffee runs and passed the long photo shoot hours reading a paperback book or giving Jongin encouraging finger hearts behind the photographer.

Kyungsoo just sort of reminds Jongin of… a lion cub? A lion cub. Small, but seems perfectly capable of ripping Jongin’s head off. Joonmyeon was more of a docile kitten.

The stylist forgets to hairspray a piece of Soojung’s ponytail. It slips down in a thick, red curl. Jongin reaches out absently and tucks it behind her ear. She doesn’t retaliate and her skin is hot when he pulls away. Jongin realizes she must be just as tired as he is.

He pokes her cheek the way Yixing does to him, to get a laugh out of her, help her relax. “Your hair’s like spaghetti.”

She flicks his forehead. “Not funny,” she murmurs but some of the tension leaves her shoulders.

Afterwards, Soojung is shuffled away by her manager to a talk show recording and Jongin slips into his own van with Kyungsoo.

“Hyung,” Jongin says to the driver. “Hongdae, please.”

Kyungsoo’s short fingers pause over his cell phone screen, and he looks up at Jongin with a cocked eyebrow. “You’re supposed to go back to the company.”

 _Very_ un-Junmyeon. Jongin sighs, leaning back. “I don’t have a schedule, though.”

“But your final choreography is due at the end of the week,” Kyungsoo reasons. “I’ve been told you haven’t started learning formations yet with the back-up dancers.” His fingers fly across the screen again. The size of the cell phone dwarfs his hands and the sleeves of his black turtleneck are too long. Jongin wonders how old he is. Older probably, although it would be hard to tell.

“Choreo isn’t hard,” Jongin says. “I’ll learn it.”

“Well, that’s not the only problem.” Kyungsoo doesn’t spare him a glance, owlish eyes sliding left to right as he types an e-mail. “You can’t go out. You’ll cause a riot in the streets.”

At his left temple, Jongin thinks his hangover headache is making a comeback. It’s to the beat of a bouncy ball, the sound echoing around in his head the way the ball had rang out against the mirror. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m _really_ good at not getting caught,” he says calmly, because he needs to prove to Kyungsoo that he’s a reasonable adult. “I’m in Hongdae almost once a week. I’ve never been spotted.”

Kyungsoo looks up, pocketing his phone. “First of all, that is absolutely against the rules,” he says, eyebrow raised pointedly. Jongin cringes. _Oops_. Guess that wasn’t the strongest argument.

He pins Jongin with an even stare, and Jongin has the sudden urge to resist blinking. Like animals in the wild, asserting dominance. After a moment, though, Kyungsoo (miraculously) hums, conceding. “Fine. But no bars, no clubs, no compromising purchases. Don’t get me into trouble on the first day.”

Jongin’s lips stretch wide. He has an inappropriate itch to ruffle Kyungsoo’s hair, the way he would to Joonmyeon, but he stops himself. You can pet kittens, but lion cubs aren’t the same thing. “Of course.”

The driver pulls out of the parking lot, and Jongin reclines his seat back, contentedly. “I go to Hongdae to visit a friend,” he says, to fill the silence, leaving out the part about Yixing owning a bar since that’s apparently against the rules. “Did you know him? Zhang Yixing? He’s a few years older than me, but he was a trainee from China for a bit. Actually, I’m not sure how long ago you came into the company but me and Yixing—“

“Shh.”

Jongin blinks. “Did you just ‘shush’ me?”

“The less I know about you, the better,” Kyungsoo replies, eyes closed. With his too-large turtleneck and loose pants, Jongin takes a good look at him and realizes how small he really is.

“That really makes… no sense,” Jongin frowns. “Joonmyeon-hyung knew everything about me.”

The edges of Kyungsoo’s lips turn down the slightest, thinning. He crosses his legs, and cracks one eye open to rake across Jongin’s reclining figure. He stares at him simply. “I’m not Joonmyeon.”

⊰ ⊱

Most times, when Jongin cancels meals with his parents, he isn’t lying when he tells them he’s too busy to make the drive home. During a promotion cycle, he can go months without a single day off.

Today is not one of those days. When his mother’s name flashes across his cell phone screen after dance practice, he knows he can’t get away with it this time. He hadn’t even gone home for Chuseok this year.

“Hello?” He coughs because his throat is still dry and he hadn’t drank enough water after three hours straight of practice. The choreography is due tomorrow.

“We’ll be having dinner tonight, Jongin.” A statement rather than an invitation. His mother’s voice is crisp and cool through the speaker. Although, it’s not very far off from the way it sounds in person. “Please be there at seven.”

He had made dinner plans with Yixing earlier today. Jongin swallows his refusal, and plays off the impulsive sigh as another cough. “All right.”

“Don’t be late,” she says, and then the line clicks.

He dials Yixing right after. “Family stuff,” he tells him, as way of explanation.

“Is everything okay?” Yixing asks, forever concerned. Jongin smiles, even though Yixing can’t see.

“Yes. Don’t worry.”

“If you say so,” he replies. It’s quiet on his end, so Jongin assumes he’s just at home. “Also, please don’t wear that windbreaker. Wear a coat. And zip it.”

That night, he pulls up to his parent’s house on the west end of Gangnam. The last time he had visited was for his father’s birthday. In March. A painfully awkward experience. The plus side had been that there were so many guests that he hadn’t really had to speak with his parents the entire night, anyways.

The interior always looks the same. Jongin gets whiplash every time he stands in the entrance, toeing his shoes off. Not even the slightest variation in décor or furniture. It’s a place frozen in time. Four, fourteen, twenty-four years old, nothing changes to Jongin.

He’s sure the walls of his bedroom would still hold all his secrets. Sometimes he’s afraid to step inside, to open the door, in fear they might escape from where he’s trapped them. He feels suffocated, the way he always does when he’s here.

The maid has changed since the last time. She leads him into the dining room, as if he doesn’t know where it is. His mother and father are seated at the table already and the food seems like it’s just been laid out.

The first half hour passes quietly, without hitches, which is already record-breaking for the three of them alone in a room together. It’s usually a lot worse by now. Neither parent even mentions his latest scandal from a few weeks ago.

By dessert, he’s realized why.

“We think,” his dad begins, as the maid places a thick slice of cheesecake in front of each of them, “you should look into marriage again.”

Again. Jongin forks a big chunk of the cake into his mouth to buy time. His toes curl into the heated floors. He remembers being five, pressing his cheeks against the tiles whenever he sought warmth. His parents never gave hugs.

“We met with the Kangs yesterday,” his mother continues, after a large gulp of wine. She pins him with a stare as cold as her voice, as the autumn air outside. “They like you, Jongin. They…” She wrings her hands, pausing. “Their daughter is quite interested in you. The family, as well, even though—“

His fork clangs against the plate as he sets it down. “Even… what?”

“Even though you’re an _idol_ ,” his dad finishes, and he doesn’t say it as bluntly as that very often, but Jongin already knows anyways, and he can take those remarks unflinchingly by now. “Even though you’ve chosen this life and still have no regard for your reputation.” What he means is the family reputation. His lips turn down as he speaks, like the words are distasteful in his mouth.

Jongin takes another bite of cheesecake. Strawberry. It’s good. He wonders if it’s a coincidence that the maid made his favourite, or if she was told. But then again, there’s no way his parents would know his favourite flavour of cheesecake.

“Anything else?” he drawls, in between bites.

“You’re meeting the Kang daughter.”

He makes a vague noise in his throat. “I told you I’d—“

“That you’d get married on your own. Yes, we know,” his mother says. “That was two years ago. And have you made progress?”

Jongin’s lungs feel crowded in his insides. His stomach curls like his toes. “It’s too early for marriage. I’m only twenty-four.” Eventually, they’ll stop taking that excuse, he knows. The thought sits uncomfortably in his head. He wishes tonight could have gone differently. Maybe he should have found a way to squirm out of this dinner on the phone. Curled up on Yixing’s couch with Chinese takeout is a much warmer thought. Right now, Jongin is cold. Even with the heated floors.

“Jongin,” his dad’s voice comes in, low and warning. Jongin’s not sure he’s ever heard his father raise it. His father has never yelled. Jongin doesn’t know if yelling would be worse, though. Yelling could hide the drops of disappointment in his father’s tone, which is all Jongin hears behind every word. Thick, hot, burning drops.

But when his father speaks, it’s always without extra volume, always unguarded. All his cards are on the table, as if waiting for Jongin to take one. _Take a law degree. Take a business degree. Take this well-bred woman._ And Jongin hasn’t ever touched the pile.

“You _will_ meet her. She’ll be back in Seoul by March.” his dad says. “We’re telling you now so that you can clear that schedule of yours. This is not a request. Do you understand?”

Maybe it’s because Jongin’s leash was so short growing up that resistance was built right into his bones from the start. The idea of getting to make his own choices became synonymous with happiness, because happiness became synonymous with freedom. And he never had freedom when he was younger.

“I don’t want to meet her,” Jongin replies. He finishes his cheesecake. His parents haven’t touched theirs. “If she’s really so great, you should make sure to tell her I won’t be coming. Don’t waste her time.”

He’s twenty-four now. There’s never a definition of happiness. He’s come to realize it is a state of being, one that only the truly fortunate ever get to experience. Life has thrown Jongin a lot of curve balls.

Or maybe, the pitches were just as straight as anybody else’s, and he’s just swinging the bat wrong. Happiness isn’t synonymous with freedom anymore. In fact, he’s not sure if he truly has either.

His mother swipes at her face with both hands, sighing. “You’re meeting her. It’s been set,” she says, tiredly. Jongin thinks she looks much older than he remembers. “And you will not bomb the date.”

“Why are you so adamant about not meeting these women, Jongin?” his dad asks, and Jongin doesn’t meet his eyes but he can tell they are boring holes straight into his soul.

Jongin bites down on the inside of his lip, stomach churning. He shakes his head and stands, grabbing his coat off the back of the chair. He wore his warmest coat today. Not the windbreaker.

“Fine,” he says. “If my schedule allows, she’ll get an hour.”

On his way out, the maid is cleaning the living room. Her eyebrows raise at Jongin as he slips his shoes on. “Thank you,” he bows to her. “Strawberry cheesecake is my favourite.”

It’s just a little past eight. His phone has two missing calls from Soojung. He was going to see if he could meet up with Yixing again, but Soojung’s next free night isn’t for a while.

He dials her number as he steps into his car.

⊰ ⊱

Jongin parks at his apartment and walks the rest of the way. He won’t be able to drive anyways if he drinks, which he’s sure he will. He’s meeting Soojung at the _pojangmacha_ just ten minutes down the street on foot.

Soojung has tucked her hair into a bun under a cap, but tendrils of red still peek out the nape of her neck. Her cheeks are flushed, a soft dusting of pink just a few shades lighter than her hair. She shivers after a whole gulp of _soju_. Jongin shrugs his coat off as he walks over, and drapes it over her thin shoulders.

“You’ll probably regret this in the morning,” he tells her, sitting down. It sounds like something Yixing would say to him. “You’re a total lightweight.”

“Better than you,” she retorts, but the last word gets pulled by a hiccup. Jongin smiles, and pries the bottle from her fingers.

“Are you even old enough to drink?” he teases, and he knows Soojung is going to kick him but he lets her.

“Sorry if you had to cut short your plans to meet me,” she says, more solemn. She huddles into Jongin’s coat for warmth and Jongin wonders how sober she really is.

“No, I’m glad you called actually,” he replies, crossing his legs under the table. “I was eating dinner with my parents.”

“How was it?”

“Oh, you know. The usual,” he says. “Stiff and uncomfortable.”

She props her head up into the palm of her hand, a sympathetic expression. “Your parents aren’t that bad, you know. They’re just thinking of the future. And, when I visited, they were nice to me.”

It’s hard to explain, Jongin wants to say, that his parents don’t do things out of love. “They were nice to you because they like you,” he says instead. “Since you can actually keep up with their conversations on the state of our government and the shifts in the economy.”

Soojung’s better with his parents than Jongin is himself, and she’s only met them once. She was book-smart and sharp-witted in a way that Jongin never was. Her _suneung_ scores had been ridiculous. Good enough to get into the economics program at SNU.

Unlike her, Jongin had had no “backup plan.” He was a performer, through and through. Back then, being on stage was the best place for him to hide. Being on stage, he could be anyone but himself.

He shakes his head. “The difference between our parents is that you turned down Seoul National, but they still love you.”

Soojung wets her lips. Her eyebrows pull together, tense. “Jongin—“

He pours himself the rest of the _soju_ , into Soojung’s cup. “Anyways,” he says. “They just wanted to corner me about marriage again.”

She rubs her eyes. Jongin notices she’s not wearing any makeup tonight. “Marriage?” she echoes, mouth turning down. She frowns at her cuticles again, but Jongin can’t understand why because they’ve been perfectly manicured this time. “Well, how about you?”

He signals for another bottle of soju. The ahjumma nods at him, warmly. “What _about_ me?” he clarifies.

“I mean,” she links her fingers together on the table. “Do _you_ want to get married?”

To Jongin, getting married was in the same vein as getting into a great university and a respectable major – a definition of success Jongin _wished_ he wanted. Wished he could achieve. “I don’t know,” he replies. He really doesn’t know. Another curve ball he doesn’t know how to hit.

“Did they set you up?” asks Soojung tentatively. She looks good without makeup. Fresh-faced and pretty.

“Yeah. Not the first time either,” he says, as the ahjumma sets down a fresh bottle of _chamiseul_ in front of them. Jongin smiles at her, always charming. “How are you tonight?” he greets. The woman pats his hand fondly, soft wrinkles stretching as she returns the warm smile.

“I don’t want to see you drinking so much, Kim Jongin,” she frets, and Jongin imagines her wagging a finger at him.

“Don’t you worry about me,” he says. “I don’t eat from any other _pojangmacha_.”

She chuckles, slapping his arm good-naturedly, and looks over at Soojung. “Well, I was wondering when I’d finally see you with Krystal,” the woman says. “You’re very pretty in person. My daughter has posters of you.”

Soojung dips her head politely. “Thank you,” she says, her tone a million times smoother than it had been a minute ago, the way it is when she slips into the idol mould. Jongin laughs.

“Thank you for the soju, ahjumma,” he says, grinning.

The woman pats his hand one last time, before pulling away. “You’re so much kinder than the articles say you are,” she tells him, patting his cheeks. Jongin still grins but by now, his face hurts.

“I didn’t know you had fans of all ages,” Soojung says, when they’re alone again.

“Of course I do.” Jongin smiles, winningly. “That ahjumma is a sweetheart, though,” he explains. “She’s been set up here for quite a while. I come here a lot so she knows me.”

“Hmm,” Soojung adjusts her cap as a herd of girls walk by the stall. They’re too enthralled in their own conversation to look over. “She’s right, you know.”

The skin on Jongin’s arms crawl a bit, goose bumps forming as the wind blows. But he doesn’t shiver, or else Soojung will give him his jacket back. “About what?”

“You know,” she repeats, “You’re not really the asshole you pretend to be.”

“Who thinks I’m an asshole?” Jongin jokes. He smooths down the fine hairs on his arm, then pours himself more soju. “I don’t pretend to be an asshole.”

“Maybe not an asshole,” Soojung sighs. Underneath the table, Jongin can feel her tapping her foot. Thinking. “But you definitely… you do pretend. To be something. It feels like you don’t want anyone to get close to you.” Is it accusing? Jongin doesn’t know. She grabs the cup of soju he had poured for himself, and drinks it. There’s no such thing as table manners with them.

“I’m an idol,” Jongin says, pulling the small glass from her fingers. He hadn’t realized his hands were cold until he feels Soojung’s skin. “We’re both idols. You’re an ice princess too. It’s not a bad thing to guard our personal lives.”

Soojung shakes her head. “But we’re _friends_ , Jonginnie. There’s nothing you have to guard from me. Or anyone else,” she sighs. “I mean, you were always a little bit more open with Joonmyeon-oppa, but even then…”

In Jongin’s mind, there is a flash of late nights in the practice room, as a trainee, trying to perfect every piece of the choreography. Messing up the monthly evaluations was never an option. He needed to be flawless. Yixing would stay up with him most times, a gentle pat on the back that kept Jongin tethered to his sanity.

He pushes the memory back down before more can resurface.

“Everyone keeps a part of themselves hidden,” Jongin says. He drinks the liquid he pours quickly, so that Soojung won’t take it from him again. “Everyone. Secrets stop being secrets once they’re shared.” It’s cold tonight. But there’s a fire ignited in the pit of his stomach and the back of his neck is crawling with heat. “But we all have secrets. It’s what defines us a person.”

Soojung blinks at him through her eyelashes. They’re really thin without mascara. “That’s a bit of a sad thought,” she mumbles. “I think we’re defined by a lot more than the skeletons in our closet and the mistakes we’ve made.”

Jongin’s shoulders tense. More curve balls. “That might not be true for me,” he says, quietly, and a part of him hopes that the wind eats away some of his words. When he looks up at Soojung, her expression is unreadable.

“Anyways,” she clears her throat, “I think I’d like to get married. Eventually.”

Jongin clutches at the shift in the conversation, digging his nails into it so that he doesn’t lose it. “Yeah?” he says, prodding her shin lightly with his foot, “You’d be a terrible housewife.”

Soojung is too fiery and independent to coop herself up in a kitchen all day, making sure dinner is ready by the time her husband comes home. The thought of her even in an apron makes Jongin want to laugh.

“I don’t see myself married like _right now_ ,” she reiterates. She tries to tuck the falling strands of hair into the cap, unsuccessful. Jongin reaches across the table, and pulls it up for her. “I… it’s hard to imagine a relationship. At the moment.”

Jongin disagrees. “Why do you say that?” he says. The next glass of soju he pours, he lets her take it. “You have your pick of every man in the country. The queue of choices would be endless.”

Her head tips back all the way as she empties the cup and the glass comes down with a loud slam against the tabletop, enough to make a few people look over. “No, I don’t,” she says, vowels slurring together a little. “I don’t.” She hiccups twice.

“Oh, Soojung,” Jongin stands up, laughing, and walks around the table, readjusting her cap. “It’s time to get you home now.”

He heaves her up from her seat, and she stumbles before regaining balance. Jongin exhales, relieved. At least he won’t have to carry her.

A light tap on the back makes him turn around, and he comes face to face with a sharpie and a cell phone. It’s a trio of university girls. They all sport Seoul-dae varsity jackets. “Are you… are you really Kai? And Krystal?” one of them says, gaping.

Biting his lip, he slaps Soojung on the back so she’ll straighten. “Hello,” he says to them, and Soojung opens her eyes when Jongin lets go of her. “Um, yeah. You’d like an autograph?” he asks, smile tired but he hopes they won’t notice.

He agrees to sign anything, but has to turn down pictures or else the company will really chew him up. The girls are kind enough to tuck their phones away, but a few minutes later, it doesn’t really matter once they get stopped twice more, a block away from the _pojangmacha_.

They duck into the nearest store another block down. It’s a hat shop, and the only person inside is the shopkeeper. He looks like he’s in his thirties, and Jongin can’t tell if he knows who they are.

“Call your manager,” Jongin turns to Soojung. “Quickly. I can’t walk even call you a taxi like this. The streets are way too busy.”

“Nooooo,” Soojung whines, falling against a shelf of bucket hats. “Not manager-oppa. He’ll kill me.”

Jongin frowns at his phone. “Well, I can’t call mine,” he thinks about Junmyeon, and then remembers that’s not the right person. “I don’t have Kyungsoo-ssi’s number.”

Even partially drunk, Soojung slices him with her eyes. “You don’t have your _manager’s_ phone number?”

“I forgot to ask.” Jongin hasn’t needed to call him at all.

“I have Kyungsoo-oppa’s kakao,” Soojung mumbles. “Tell him to pick us up.”

Jongin reaches into the pocket of her denim, and finds ‘Do Kyungsoo’ on the contact list.

Kyungsoo sounds the same on the phone, if not a little raspier from the late hour. His voice comes out unassuming, but slightly irritated. It could be worse, Jongin figures.

A black van pulls up in front of the carpet store, and they both pile in quickly. Kyungsoo is driving. He stares at them in the rearview mirror, as Jongin helps Soojung up.

“Sorry—“

“Save it for the morning,” Kyungsoo says, exhaling. Jongin notices the hair sticking up at the back of his head. “PR is going to eat me.”

“I’ll take the blame, Kyungsoo-ssi,” Jongin yawns, settling Soojung’s head onto his shoulder so she doesn’t get a kink in her neck tomorrow. She’s fallen asleep already.

When Jongin’s eyes meet Kyungsoo’s through the mirror, Kyungsoo looks away first, gaze back on the road.

⊰ ⊱

There is always a part of the year when everything sort of piles up all at once, and Jongin is shuffled from one thing to the next so quickly that the days blur together.

Jongin’s learned by now though—he’s very much learned, after eight years—how it works. His body does things now he didn’t think were even physically possible when he was sixteen. Like pulling all-nighters. Or two all-nighters in the same week. Or pulling those all-nighters, consecutively.

The practice room lights turn on, sudden and sharp, and Jongin wants to hiss like a burning vampire. He doesn’t though, because he sees Kyungsoo by the doorway, staring at him blankly. Jongin pulls an earphone out.

“It’s four in the morning,” Kyungsoo states, moving into the room. Jongin is lying on the floor, his duffel bag propping his head up in a makeshift pillow. “Why are you sleeping in here?”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” Jongin sits up, closing his phone screen. A normal person’s back would probably be aching from lying on hardwood for so long. Not Jongin’s. It would take nothing less than a bed of spikes for Jongin to start complaining about injuries. “I’m brushing up the choreography before management comes in to check on it.”

“You haven’t slept at all, then?” Kyungsoo is in a black long sleeve and denim. Jongin wonders if he has any other colour in his wardrobe. Without the turtleneck, though, he looks even smaller than he already is. “We have to get you on the road by six. We’re driving to that Lotte event in Daegu.”

“I can sleep in the van,” Jongin says, standing up. That’s where he always sleeps anyways. More often than his bed. He hoists his duffel bag onto his shoulder. There’s a headache starting soon. Somewhere between his eyebrows. “Thanks, Kyungsoo-ssi.”

“Make sure you do sleep,” Kyungsoo says. “You look like someone just ran you over. Even your pretty smile won’t be able to cover it up this time.”

“Pretty?” Jongin chuckles. He wets his lips. Chapped. The practice room is always too dry.

Kyungsoo’s face is impassive. “You skipped over the part where I said you look like roadkill,” he replies. “I’ll get you breakfast.”

“More like dinner, since my last meal was lunch, at two in the afternoon.”

Kyungsoo shakes his head, stepping back towards the doorway. “I’ll get you something heavier, then.”

“Heavier?” Jongin turns the lights off, and they walk out together. “Like?”

Kyungsoo looks like he’s trying not to huff. Jongin can imagine Kyungsoo huffing, complete with the steam coming out of his ears. “What do you want?”

“Chicken.”

“I bet you’d ask for that anyways, right?”

Jongin smiles wide, patting Kyungsoo’s back approvingly. He realizes a second later that Kyungsoo probably doesn’t like that, but then he also doesn’t pull away from Jongin’s hand so Jongin figures maybe the both of them are just too tired for any complaints.

In the van, Jongin does sleep for most of the way. When he wakes up, Kyungsoo insists on running him through his schedule for the next week and if it were Junmyeon, Jongin would have fallen back asleep. But Kyungsoo does this thing where his voice is low and sharp at the same time; the kind of voice that holds attention without demanding it.

“Do you like manager-ing?” Jongin asks, when they’re only minutes from their hotel. There are always fans waiting outside and nowadays they all have their super HD cameras and telephoto lenses that are meant to capture pictures of Mars. They will definitely catch his dark circles. “Not that it’s bad or anything, because I’m sure I’d be dead without a manager, but I imagine it’s not a person’s dream job.”

“‘Manager-ing?’” Kyungsoo makes a noise that’s not quite a scoff, nor a laugh. “That can’t be the word.”

Jongin looks out the window. Daegu is nice, he thinks. It’s always nice to get out of Seoul. There had been an upperclassman of Jongin’s in high school, Lee Taemin, who moved to Daegu at the end of his last year. Daegu is nice. Jongin knows that a city is huge, but the idea of running into Taemin would be—

“Anything is a word if you say it,” Jongin argues. He looks away from the window. His thoughts get weird when he lets his mind wander. “And you know what I mean. Do you like being a manager?”

Kyungsoo doesn’t answer at first, eyes trained to his phone. He’s typing out an e-mail. He doesn’t answer until he’s pressed send and pocketed his phone and Jongin wonders if that was to buy himself time or if he just really doesn’t care for Jongin’s questions.

“I don’t _not_ like it,” he replies, eventually.

Jongin clicks his tongue. “‘Don’t _not_ like it’ as in the way I ‘don’t _not_ like’ chicken?”

Kyungsoo gives him a withering look, but he’s smiling. Like, a real full smile. “Your love for chicken is probably unmatchable.” His smile is heart-shaped, Jongin notices. It opens up Kyungsoo’s face so much. Like drawing the curtains back on a window.

“You’re very right, Kyungsoo-ssi.”

Kyungsoo always wears too much black, but the smile is a splash of colour.

⊰ ⊱

They stay at a smaller hotel. It’s more cramped than what he’s used to, but Jongin likes it. It doesn’t feel like home. He likes that the room has a balcony, too. He steps out, arms rested forward on the railing, a glass of water in one hand. The other undoes the top button of his dress shirt.

The night air settles on his skin, relaxes the tension in his joints. The chill melts the sweat across his forehead. It’s refreshing, after a long day smiling at cameras and answering the same questions three times for three different interviews.

When he’s alone, he likes to call Yixing. Because being alone means his mind wanders even more, and it’s hard for Jongin to stop it. He always needs to have something to stop it for him, to grasp at anything that’s not his own thoughts.

Yixing doesn’t pick up but Jongin hadn’t expected him to because most nights he’s on shift at JEKYLL. Jongin had hoped, anyways. He steps out of his room an hour later. The sound of his thoughts can be too loud. Most of his memories are curve balls, too. And he doesn’t know how to swing his bat, to hit them away hard enough.

On the ground floor dining area, Kyungsoo is alone at a table.

“For someone who complains about no time to sleep,” he looks up once as Jongin approaches, then looks back down at his phone, “you sure spend your rare free time not sleeping.”

“Because free time and sleeping time is supposed to be two separate things, but for me, it’s all combined.” Jongin takes the seat across from him, sitting down with an exaggerated sigh. “It’s 10PM. My idol-wired body isn’t used to sleeping that early, anyways.”

“Hmm.” Kyungsoo’s ordered a drink. It’s almost empty, an auburn-coloured liquid that could be anything. “You and me both, I guess.”

“You have an idol-wired body?” says Jongin. He leans forward, legs shifting. Their knees bump under the table.

Kyungsoo runs his tongue along the seam of his lips, slowly, tentative. “More or less,” he says and finishes his drink. He swallows with a pinched face, like he doesn’t like the taste of Jongin’s question. “When you manage idols, you’re on their schedules too.”

“That’s true.” Jongin moves into the curve of his chair, and tucks his legs back. The table is small and his legs are too long. “Sorry to keep you up, then.”

“You better be,” says Kyungsoo, and there’s that flash of a smile again. Heart-shaped and colourful in the dim, dining hall lighting. “I won’t have a proper night’s sleep until your schedule clears up.”

“When does my schedule _ever_ clear up? You’ll be bound to a life of no sleep forever, I’m afraid.”

“It will once you join the club of washed-up idols.” It’s lighthearted. Jongin laughs.

“So never, basically,” Jongin counters, grinning cheekily.

Kyungsoo presses his lips together, a thin line. But it’s more amused than affronted. “You’re a cocky one.”

“One of my best traits.”

“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes.” Kyungsoo stands up with a small yawn, hand covering his mouth politely, the way Joonmyeon would tell Jongin to yawn. _Manners, Jongin_ , he would say.

“Will you ever answer my question?” Jongin says, as Kyungsoo wrestles into a black hoodie.

“Which one?” A tiny smile. He is so tiny. Except for his eyes. They’re huge. Like they were made to scale every word of fine print, every detail of Jongin’s. “You have so many.”

“About why you’re a manager,” Jongin explains. He asked Joonmyeon this question too, once. Joonmyeon had just ruffled his hair and said he liked his job. That he liked working with Jongin. Even if Jongin had been hard to warm up to. Jongin remembers the press of Joonmyeon’s palm on his head.

“I don’t know,” Kyungsoo answers. He fusses with his hair, running fingers through the front pieces. He looks tired now, like he just wants to escape to his bed. “I just take what I’m offered. That’s how it goes.” He rolls the sleeves up on his hoodie. They’re too long for his arms, too. “I’m a senior manager now, so the pay and benefits are decent. Not a happy, glitz and glam dream for sure, but not everyone can have that kind of life. I’m good at this job, that’s all.”

Jongin watches Kyungsoo’s retreating figure. Is there such thing, Jongin wants to ask, as a glitz and glam life that’s happy? Jongin has two of the three, and one of them isn’t the happiness. The problem is, when you have everything, you can’t figure out why it feels like you’re missing something. Jongin is always missing something. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever find out what that is. He doesn’t know if he wants to.

He is left alone again, with his thoughts, with his own mind, as Kyungsoo walks out of the hall and steps into an elevator.

⊰ ⊱

Jongin’s sister visits Korea halfway through November. She lives in Germany with her husband and their son, and Jongin hardly sees her these days.

It’s his nephew’s birthday and Jongin almost forgets that morning. _i need you_ , he texts Kyungsoo dramatically because he knows it’ll get Kyungsoo to reply faster. True enough, Kyungsoo’s answer pops up five minutes later.

_Are you drunk on a Sunday morning?_

Jongin snorts, laughing. _perfectly sober, i promise. i need you to pick up a nintendo switch for me. i’d get it myself but the department stores are so busy >.<_

Kyungsoo’s next reply is instant. _You’re such a kid_. Jongin’s about to type back, but then another bubble pops up. _I’ll drop it off in an hour or so. Depends on the traffic._

Jongin grins, answering with a kkt sticker of his own face. Kyungsoo doesn’t send a reply, but Jongin can see that he’s read the message, and a part of him can imagine Kyungsoo’s expression, rolling his eyes but trying not to smile.

An hour later, Jongin’s waiting in the lobby of his building, and Kyungsoo comes through the entrance, holding a big paper bag. He waves at the guard to let Kyungsoo through.

“I seriously owe you,” Jongin says, taking the bag from him. “It’s my nephew’s birthday.”

“Ah,” Kyungsoo pockets his hands. “Your sister’s in town, right?”

“Wow, are you a psychic?”

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, lips quirking. It’s that expression again. “You mentioned it last week. I have a good memory,” he says. “Should I drive you? Where’s she staying?”

“With my parents,” Jongin checks the time on his phone. “In Daechi-dong.”

“That’s not far,” Kyungsoo turns, and Jongin starts following him outside. He expects Kyungsoo to make a comment – _you don’t seem like someone from that neighbourhood_ – which Jongin is used to hearing. But Kyungsoo doesn’t say anything else, as they walk towards the van.

Jongin sits in the front passenger seat, which he only does when Kyungsoo’s driving. He likes seeing Kyungsoo’s reactions to things when Jongin teases him or makes dumb comments about a TV show he just watched or people they drive by. Today, they’re mostly quiet. The drive is quick without traffic. Much quicker than he would have liked.

When they arrive, Jongin invites Kyungsoo in.

“I shouldn’t,” Kyungsoo says, gripping the steering wheel. His gaze is fixed ahead. He runs a hand through his hair and it makes the front pieces stick up. Jongin wants to smooth it down for him, but he doesn’t. “But let me know if you need a pick-up.”

Something in Jongin wants to push. He doesn’t know why, but he’d like Kyungsoo to come with him. Maybe because he’s gotten too used to him being around, telling him his schedule, reassuring him, dealing with all of Jongin’s worries before Jongin even _realizes_ he’s worried. Even when Kyungsoo makes vaguely snide remarks, cutting the malice with his heart-shaped smile, it always lifts some invisible boulder inside of Jongin’s chest.

But Jongin reminds himself of Kyungsoo’s rule. To know as little as possible about him.

“Okay,” he says, stepping out of the car. “I’ll message you.”

Jongin wishes… well, he knows he’s the opposite. He wants to know everything about Kyungsoo. Quiet, serious Kyungsoo. A part of him thinks maybe that’s a dangerous feeling. But he pushes that thought away before it can fully form.

Jongin’s sister, Junghee, answers the door, pulling him into a hug. Jaeyoung, his nephew, is right behind her and Jongin picks him up and swings him around. “Hey, there, buddy,” he says, as Jaeyoung laughs. “Happy birthday. You’re pretty old now, huh? Double digits.”

“You got a Switch?” he exclaims, leaping back into Jongin’s arms. “Mom! _Samchon_ bought me a Switch!”

Junghee gives Jongin a helpless look. “He did, did he?”

As Jaeyoung runs off, Junghee sighs and punches Jongin in the arm. “You’re spoiling him.”

“Let me be the cool uncle,” Jongin chuckles, following her into the dining room. “Mom and Dad aren’t home?”

“They’ve gone to Gangneung for a few days. A business trip.”

“A few days? That’s bad timing. You’re only in Korea for a week or so, right?”

The maid comes by to serve them tea and some rice crackers. They thank her and she smiles, retreating back into the living room to watch Jaeyoung, who Jongin can hear pulling the box open excitedly.

“I’ll probably stay two weeks. I’ve wrapped up a project for a big client last week and I’m really relishing a break,” Junghee shrugs. “Plus, Jaeyoung’s Korean is seriously getting rusty. He’s always using German these days.”

“How is Leo?”

“The law firm is always busy, and he just got promoted.” Junghee stirs her tea steadily. “He’s stressed. But in a good way. He also says the new batch of interns are big fans of you.”

Jongin laughs. “Really? I’ve never even played a show in Germany before.”

“You should. We went to a Korean restaurant in Berlin and they were playing all your music videos on the TV. Leo and his parents loved it.”

“Good to know my in-laws approve of me, at least,” Jongin chuckles, bitterly.

Junghee’s face softens. “Mom and dad… they’re just…” she sips her tea. “They’re worried about you. At the end of the day, they’re just worried. They don’t want to see you ten years from now, out of love with performing. Plus, well, you know idol shelf life isn’t that long.” She taps her fingers on the table thoughtfully. The diamond of her wedding ring catches the light nicely. “You know how I was in high school. I never looked out for you like I should’ve. I was always causing trouble, and I was hell-bent on being a designer. I fought with mom about it every day. But then, time passed. I proved myself. And I got married to a great guy. We had Jaeyoung. Mom really came around, then. Things fell into place.”

Jongin’s tea burns somewhere in his chest. He doesn’t know how to tell his sister that things… won’t ever fall into place for him. Not as perfectly as it does for everyone else, people who were meant to fit as pieces of the same puzzle.

“Mom said you brought home, what’s her name? Soojung? The other idol you’re always with,” Junghee says, smiling. “She sounded really nice and smart. You’re not interested in her?”

Jongin shakes his head. If only it were that easy. “She’s like a little sister,” he says, staring down at his steaming cup. Maybe it’s the warmth of the tea, or the warmth of the heated floors, or just the comfort of seeing his sister after months and months, but Jongin can feel his mouth moving before he can stop it. “Sometimes, I think… you know, noona, I really wonder if I’m meant to be alone. In this lifetime.” In this lifetime, he has his fans, his music, Yixing, Soojung, Joonmyeon-hyung (if he ever really wanted to visit him) and… Kyungsoo. His manager. To sort out his life for him. This could be enough.

Junghee sighs, leaning forward to squeeze his shoulder. “You’re too young to say that, Jongin. You’re too young to give up like that.” She smells like expensive perfume. The kind Soojung brings back from trips to Paris with her sister. “Jonginnie, whoever you find, I will support you 100%, you know that, right? I don’t care who it is, but I’ll always back you up. So, don’t even worry about mom and dad.”

Jongin hangs his head to hide his face because he thinks he might cry and he won’t do that in front of his sister because then he’ll need to explain why, and he can’t. So he waits for the prickle of tears to go away, and smiles at Junghee, and wishes he could believe her.

⊰ ⊱

Kyungsoo picks him up two hours later, after Jongin has helped Jaeyoung set up the Switch and played a few rounds of Mario Kart with him.

Junghee walks Jongin outside and gives him a long hug, and tells him to seriously visit Berlin the next time he’s free. Kyungsoo comes out of the driver’s seat to open the passenger door, bowing politely to Junghee when she looks over at him.

“That’s not Joonmyeon,” she notices. “Do you have a new manager?”

“Yeah,” Jongin says. “Hyung’s getting married. He moved to the US recently.” He turns and waves Kyungsoo over. Meeting his sister is harmless, Jongin thinks. He hopes so, at least. Thankfully Kyungsoo walks over without any protest.

“Why do you always get such good-looking managers?” she comments, grinning wryly. “Seriously. First Joonmyeon-ssi and now this one. He’s super cute. Kind of young-looking, though.”

Jongin lets out a laugh. His cheeks are turning numb and red from the cold. “Kyungsoo’s…” he says, but doesn’t know how to finish that thought. “Yeah. He’s younger than he looks. I think.”

Kyungsoo bows again when he comes up next to Jongin. “Noona, this is Do Kyungsoo, my new manager,” Jongin introduces. “He was a vocal coach but now he’s stuck babysitting me. Kyungsoo, this is Junghee-noona.”

Junghee laughs. “You’re doing hero’s work, Kyungsoo-ssi.”

Kyungsoo smiles hesitantly, fixing his hair, the way he does when he’s feeling awkward. It’s sticking up again, and this time Jongin does reach over and smooth it down. He probably shouldn’t, considering how much Kyungsoo likes his personal space, but for a second, Jongin thinks Kyungsoo leans into him a little bit. Probably because he’s so cold, standing out in this weather. His nose is already pink.

“It’s nice to meet you, Junghee-ssi,” Kyungsoo replies. “I do my best to keep him in one piece.”

“Someone has to,” she chuckles. She squeezes Jongin’s cheeks one last time, playfully, and her eyes linger on his a second longer than Jongin would like.

“Am I free to go, noona?” Jongin mumbles.

“Yeah, yeah,” she sighs. “Call me more often, would you?”

As they drive back to Jongin’s apartment, Jongin closes his eyes and falls asleep, dreamless.

⊰ ⊱

The air in the room is hot and thick, but Jongin takes the coffee, anyways. He wrinkles his nose. “Is this black?”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who puts packets and packets of sugar in their coffee,” Kyungsoo says. He looks out of place in the practice room, which is humid and smells like sweat. Jongin thinks the black turtleneck is offensive, considering the conditions.

“I’m not,” Jongin defends, although he’s not sure about what Kyungsoo’s definition of ‘packets and packets’ is. Jongin only uses about four. At least. “But I don’t drink black coffee. It’s… icky.”

Kyungsoo’s too-large eyes widen, and Jongin wonders for a second if they’re going to pop out of his skull. “I can’t believe you just used the word ‘icky’,” Kyungsoo sits on the arm of the practice room couch, like he can’t be bothered to sit down on it properly. Either that or Jongin supposes he just doesn’t want to be close to Jongin’s sweaty skin. “In a real sentence. How old are you?”

The problem, Jongin thinks, is he can never tell if Kyungsoo is joking. “Twenty-four,” Jongin answers, solemnly. “What about you?”

“Twenty-eight.” Kyungsoo sips his own drink. The liquid is as black as his shirt, his eyes, his hair. “I didn’t know you were that young.”

“I didn’t know you were that _old_ ,” Jongin hums, thoughtfully. “But I guess you were already a vocal coach even when I was a trainee.” He remembers one or two of those group vocal training sessions with Kyungsoo, when Jongin was newly debuted. Back then, he’d had to do them with the other male idols in the company and Jongin had been too focused on hitting all his notes properly to pay attention to anything else.

Kyungsoo shrugs. “Yes. But not for long. For me, singing—“

Jongin brings his cup to his mouth, and his fingers slip. The coffee sloshes past the rim, spilling a little on his hand. Kyungsoo leans forward hastily with napkins.

“Your pants,” he eyes the stain on Jongin’s sweats forlornly, and Jongin thinks he’s probably much more worried about having to stare at the mess than anything else.

“So, I can call you ‘hyung’, then?” asks Jongin, as he dabs at the stain gently.

“What?”

“Hyung,” Jongin repeats. “Because you’re older.” Kyungsoo really does not look older, though. He doesn’t look older than anyone. The way he talks and checks his e-mails, and shuffles Jongin around to his schedules is the only indication of his authority. And even then…

He’s a little lion cub. Jongin wants to ruffle his hair sometimes, but he thinks Kyungsoo would be that animal at the zoo that had a ‘NO PETTING’ sign in front of him.

“Whatever you want,” Kyungsoo says, indifferently.

Jongin smiles, satisfied. “So what were you saying earlier?”

“Hmm?” Kyungsoo’s phone chimes with an incoming message. He checks it, but puts it back in his pocket. “Oh. I don’t remember. Nothing, I guess.”

Jongin stands from the couch, and towels away the sweat behind his neck. Across the room, his backup dancers have started a b-boy battle.

“How did the final choreography look?” Jongin asks Kyungsoo.

“Good,” he says, shortly. Jongin rolls his eyes. Kyungsoo elaborates, but makes a face, like it pains him to do so. “I mean, the choreographer looked happy about it. And management thinks your comeback will be right around the corner.”

Promotion cycle means virtually no spare time, though, which is always a downside. Another occupational hazard.

“Ah,” Kyungsoo reaches into the bag at his feet and from it, produces a folder. He hands Jongin a thick bunch of papers. “You were casted in SBS’s new drama.”

Jongin frowns, taking the papers gingerly, like he doesn’t want to touch them. “Me?” he wonders. “Why?”

“The company wants you back in the acting scene,” explains Kyungsoo. He shoves his small hands into the pockets of his gray jacket. “Your last drama did well.”

The _joys_ about being a solo artist is that the company doesn’t have to rearrange your schedule to accommodate other members. In other words, it means Jongin will really have no days off.

“I hate memorizing lines,” Jongin says, gravely. A sharp pain in his stomach is also clawing at his insides. He hasn’t eaten lunch yet.

“Come on, how bad can it be really?” Kyungsoo replies. He brushes imaginary lint off the arm of his jacket. “It’s all written out for you. You just have to learn it.”

“Why do you think I sucked at school?” Jongin explains. “I can’t memorize for shit. Failed my tests left and right.”

Kyungsoo hums. “I bet you were the teacher’s least favourite.” He could be joking this time. Or not, because he says it with a straight face. Jongin will never know. “That sort of student.”

“Oh no, teachers still loved me,” says Jongin. He tosses his dirty towel into his bag, and spreads out again on the couch. Kyungsoo leans back to put more distance between them. “I’m very charming.”

“Hmm,” says Kyungsoo, wrinkling his nose, probably because the sweat smell still hasn’t gone away yet. He shrugs his jacket off and Jongin thinks it’s because he doesn’t want the smell to stick to him. “Can’t say I agree.”

Jongin peeks over at him curiously, as he watches Kyungsoo push up the sleeves of his shirt. His wrists are thin, though, so they just slip down again anyways. “You’re like a little ball of no emotions, you know that?” Jongin jokes.

Kyungsoo blinks, poker face. “I think I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

The dancers erupt in a raucous laughter on the other end of the room and the noise makes Kyungsoo jump. His full lips turn down, frowning, a tiny pout. Jongin thinks he looks younger and scarier at the same time.

“The first table read for the script is…” He scrolls through endless pages of his phone calendar, almost every day crammed with writing. “March, maybe.”

Jongin runs his tongue along the roof of his mouth, considering. “Could you schedule it for a weekend?”

“Uh,” replies Kyungsoo. “I’m still waiting on a confirmation.” He’s typing a new reminder into his calendar and Jongin hopes that schedule is not for him because he thinks he’s getting a headache just looking at it. “Why?”

“ _Please_ make it a weekend,” Jongin groans in response, curling into a ball on the couch. So tired.

“Why?” Kyungsoo asks again. Jongin is starting to think he has a natural filter in his ears, one that makes sure he doesn’t have to hear any of Jongin’s complaints and whining.

“My parents arranged a marriage meeting for me on a weekend, sometime in March,” Jongin grumbles into his knees. The sweat is thick on his back, making his shirt cling to him uncomfortably. “It’s ridiculous.” That high up the social ladder, the world his parents live in--have always lived in—is different. Like outer space—as if they breathe a whole other atmosphere.

Kyungsoo laughs, and the sound is throaty and light, a smooth mix like velvet. Jongin starts a little.

“Sorry to hear that,” Kyungsoo says, and it’s quieter and warmer than Jongin expects. They share a small look, a softness to the edges of Kyungsoo’s smile that makes Jongin wonder if it’s sympathy. But not Soojung’s kind of sympathy. His is different. But Jongin can’t quite decide how.

Kyungsoo’s phone vibrates loudly with a text alert. He looks over at it, and the moment, if it had happened at all, melts away into the noise.

“Table read scheduled for a Monday,” Kyungsoo informs him. “Sorry.” He looks like he’s fighting a smile when Jongin groans, exaggeratedly, rolling off the couch and onto the floor.

In the van, on the way to a radio interview, Kyungsoo hums Jongin’s comeback single quietly under his breath. It’s barely audible, but Jongin hears the smoothness of Kyungsoo’s tone. Full and rich, like a cup of dark coffee. The heat in Jongin’s belly starts to ripple uncomfortably. He’s hungry. He should probably eat lunch.

⊰ ⊱

The last week of November, it snows. Jongin has to listen to Soojung complain about it in the dressing rooms for the better part of ten minutes.

“How did this even happen again?” Soojung asks suddenly, reapplying lip balm across the folds of her mouth. Cold weather makes her lips chap.

“Snow?” Jongin says, from the black chaise lounge. His eyes are pinned to a riveting game of Subway Surfer. “I think it has something to do with the way the Earth is tilted and rotates, or something.” On his phone, the little figure crashes into a stoplight and Jongin curses. “But I don’t know. I haven’t taken a science course since I was sixteen.”

“No,” Soojung sighs, heavily. “I mean, our schedules are always lined up like this. You think it’s a coincidence we’ve been booked to be guests on the same episode of a talk show?”

Jongin starts a new round of the game. “Publicity?” Jongin muses. “You know how it is. Good publicity for the both of us.”

Soojung looks unsatisfied with his answer, but Jongin can’t really tell because she’s just barely visible in his peripheral vision. “We’re good at interviews together,” he adds. “I always seem like less of a dick, and you always seem like less of an ice princess.” He’s pretty sure that’s why the agency puts them on similar promotion cycles.

“You mean like less of ourselves?” She fidgets with her hair, combing her fingers through it carefully. The colour is on the verge of fading from red. It’ll be pink soon.

Jongin hums, contemplative. “More like,” he narrowly avoids dying again, swiping furiously at his screen, “… more like, less of the _negative_ sides of ourselves.” He dies anyways, and gives up with a frustrated sigh. “I think we cover each other’s flaws quite well, don’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter how well I can hide your flaws because you always find a way to make more problems for yourself later either way,” she says, airily. Although the look she gives him is much heavier.

She stumbles a little, then, falling back into the makeup counter before she steadies herself.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she says. She waves her hand, dismissive. “I’m a little dizzy... Um. Sweaty. But it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” he frowns. “You should have told me sooner. You look pale too.”

“It’s just an hour of recording. I’ll let you know if it gets bad.”

It’s gotten bad before. For Soojung. But it hasn’t been like that for a while.

She folds her hands together. Jongin watches her carefully. He shouldn’t push. Not now, at least. Instead he nods, standing from the chaise lounge. “The producer is probably going to call us soon.”

In his pocket, his phone beeps and Jongin reads a text from Kyungsoo.

 _I put three packets of sugar in your coffee this time_ , it reads. _I felt very uncomfortable. You do use three packets, don’t you?_

Jongin snorts. Kyungsoo’s judgement is tangible through the screen, as if he had somehow found a way to infuse his attitude into his perfect grammar.

 _nice try hyung_ , Jongin replies. _i use four._

_Oh my God. You’re an abomination._

“Who’s that?” Soojung asks, curiously. There’s a knock on the dressing room and the producer calls for them. Jongin opens the door, holding it for Soojung to walk out first.

“Kyungsoo-hyung,” Jongin answers. The heels of Soojung’s shoes click loudly in the hallway.

“Oh,” she exhales, and Jongin watches her shoulders fall, as if they had been tense to begin with. She could just be cold. The studio hasn’t adjusted the heaters for the early winter chill. He feels bad, but he has no jacket to offer her. “You finally got his number?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I figured I’d need it.”

“You guys are getting along pretty well,” she says. Her cream-coloured cardigan is thin. She hugs it around herself a little more. “That’s good. I never thought you’d get used to each other so fast.”

“Why not?” asks Jongin. Do they get along, though? Jongin doesn’t feel like he ‘gets along’ with him. Rather, Kyungsoo’s personality is a firecracker and Jongin’s is the night sky—stark in contrast, but a suitable clash.

“Kyungsoo-oppa is nice. But he’s got layers. And the niceness is not really one of those top layers,” Soojung says. She hesitates, chewing at her lips. They’re going to chap again. “And it’s not one of yours either, really.”

Jongin clicks his tongue to buy time, pushing Soojung’s hair back over her shoulder for her. She leans into his warmth first, but only for a moment.

“You don’t think I’m nice?” Jongin grins, and she slaps his arm.

“You pretend you’re not,” she murmurs.

 _Hello Counselor_ films with a live studio audience. There are several rows of people in a small semi-circular shape. As they walk into the filming area together, the crowd gives them a light applause, Soojung bowing at them politely and Jongin following suit, somewhat. When they’re seated, and the producers start counting backwards from ten, Soojung places a tight hand on Jongin’s knee.

“Oppa,” she whispers, mouth barely moving in an attempt to be subtle.

Jongin looks over at her, alarmed. She doesn’t call him like that very often. “What is it?” He leans over slightly, to hear her better.

“Dizzy,” she mumbles. Jongin licks his lips, anxious, squeezing her hand that’s on top of his knee. She pulls away a second later because the cameras have started recording.

⊰ ⊱

“You two won’t be doing interviews together from now on,” Kyungsoo tells them, in the hallway outside of Soojung’s practice room. Krystal’s title track is blasting through the walls. “I think you’ve successfully convinced the nation you’re dating.”

“What?” Soojung frowns, tying her hair up in a bun. She seems a lot happier with the new colour, a light brown. The stylists finally let her change it. “Did something happen?”

“Something _always_ happens,” says Jongin, airily. “Anything related to me makes headlines. I could dye my hair back to black and it would be on the front page of Naver.”

Soojung nails him with her bony elbow.

“People thought you two were touchy on _Hello Counselor_ ,” her manager explains. “Or, extra touchy I should say.” Jongin, very maturely, reaches out to pinch Soojung back in her elbow. She smacks him. “You were, to be honest.”

Soojung bites her lip and if Jongin knows her, then she’s probably feeling guilty, but Jongin isn’t mad. He never is. Not about dumb things like this.

She wasn’t feeling well. And Jongin hadn’t known how to take care of her, to check in on her, while the cameras were rolling. Every time she hugged her stomach, he patted her knee comfortingly because that’s all he could do. That’s what Yixing would do for Jongin, when they were trainees, and Jongin was exhausted but refused to sleep. Comfort can be as good as medicine when you’re sick, as good as sleep when you’re tired, when you want it to be; a blanket for the heart, when it’s cold.

“Soojung didn’t feel good,” Jongin says and he can feel her gaze on him. “I just wanted to make sure she was feeling okay.”

“It doesn’t matter,” her manager _tsks,_ and Jongin rolls his eyes. “It came across too affectionate on camera.”

“It won’t happen again,” Soojung cuts in and arches an eyebrow at Jongin as if to say _down, boy_. Jongin makes a face at her but stops talking. She opens the door to her practice room, and the music inside blares in full volume. “We’ll be careful.”

“Good,” her manager nods and retreats down the hallway. She escapes back into her practice session.

Kyungsoo stands across from Jongin. It feels very close with the narrow walls. “Are you two actually…” Kyungsoo’s sleeves droop too long again, hiding his hands. Jongin keeps forgetting how small Kyungsoo is, and then forgets again that Kyungsoo’s not actually nineteen or something, despite the narrow shoulders and baby-smooth skin.

(It looks baby smooth. An assumption. Jongin wouldn’t know.)

“What?”

Kyungsoo blinks once, then looks away. “Nothing.” He checks the time on his phone screen. He doesn’t wear a wristwatch or anything, the way Joonmyeon-hyung had.

Jongin hums. “The less you know about me, the better?” he teases, dryly.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning for your final rehearsal. Then salon appointment later this week,” Kyungsoo turns on his heel, following Soojung’s manager down the hall. “You _will_ be dying your hair black, actually.”

“It’ll be on Naver, hyung,” Jongin hollers after him, laughing.

Kyungsoo looks back for just a second, and flashes one of those smiles. A tiny movement at the corners of his mouth, so small that Jongin could miss it if he weren’t looking.

Kyungsoo turns away again, waving a hand vaguely as he retreats. “Don’t be cocky, now.”

⊰ ⊱

Jongin likes Christmas. Or at least, December. Even the coldest people are a little warmer around the holidays. Himself included.

It could just be the bustle that he likes, the ease of losing himself in a crowd. The streets are lighted bright and colourful, and happy music blares through speakers along all the strips of shops, even by the quaintest boutiques. So even when you’re alone, it’s hard to imagine you’re not, Jongin thinks, when there’s so much around you to distract you.

Music from the streets filters into his practice room, muffled but loud. It brings a little life into the otherwise stale space that might as well serve as a holding cell. Jongin wants to be outside, but he can’t. Not when there are too many people around to recognize him.

If Joonmyeon was still his manager, it would be an easy task to sweet talk him into letting Jongin roam around for an hour or two. Fresh air is good for you, Jongin would say. _“I could_ die _in here, hyung.”_ Joonmyeon’s heart was like butter under the summer sun.

But now, there’s Kyungsoo, an entirely different ball game. Kyungsoo is… a curve ball? Jongin is still trying to figure it out.

“It’s been so long since my hair hasn’t felt like it’s screaming at me, in a deep, chemically-destroyed protest.” Jongin eyes his sideburns in the mirror. Sometimes, the hairdresser-noona does an uneven job.

“It looks good black,” Kyungsoo comments from the couch. Jongin has come to realize that the later it is, the more casual Kyungsoo’s attire is, as if the working day ages him. The clock says it’s just past 1AM. Kyungsoo’s in a grey cashmere sweater and blue denim. He still has his black jacket, though, draped on the arm of the couch.

“It’s funny because that’s the only compliment I’ve ever gotten from you, and of course it pertains to your love for the colour black.” Jongin is chewing gum, smacking it loudly between his teeth. Kyungsoo, a ticking time bomb when it comes to these things, is definitely going to tell him to shut up soon.

“Hilarious,” says Kyungsoo, curtly. Jongin chews his gum louder.

“I think you don’t _not_ like black the way I don’t _not_ like chicken,” he says, and Kyungsoo looks up from his paperwork to furrow his eyebrows. His lion cub side is showing. Retreat, retreat.

“Your gum,” Kyungsoo says, and Jongin immediately stops chewing. “I can hear it louder than my own thoughts.”

“You have deceptively good ears,” Jongin says, “considering they’re so tiny.” Kyungsoo’s jaw clenches, but he’s turned his face down so Jongin can’t read his expression. Jongin has a feeling he’s trying not to smile. Or maybe trying not to throw Jongin out the window into the Christmas carol music. It could be either.

“Have you memorized your lines yet? For the drama?” Kyungsoo says.

“Ew, work talk,” Jongin groans and wipes sleep out of his eyes with the back of his hands. “Slow down, hyung. I’m still trying to make sure my voice doesn’t shake with this choreography.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”

“Wait you know vocals and stuff, right?” Jongin walks over to the speakers, and presses play on his song. “Want to help me a little?”

Between his short fingers, Kyungsoo’s pen stills. He meets Jongin’s eyes in the mirror. They’re wide with something Jongin can’t pinpoint. “I don’t know your dance or anything so… no.”

“That’s okay,” Jongin says, as the introductory eight bars are ending, in a buildup of drums. “Help me with the singing part.”

“I. What do you want me to do?” Kyungsoo looks smaller when he’s reluctant. It’s strange, almost. And slightly endearing, Jongin thinks. Kyungsoo stares at him, a little cornered. The look is a fleeting splash of colour on his face. “I can’t be… of much help, I think.”

“Liar. I know you know my song,” Jongin grins, as the first verse starts. “You hum it all the time.”

Kyungsoo clears his throat awkwardly and stands. Before the chorus hits, he pauses the song.

“Uh, you probably need to stagger your breaths to accommodate the choreo here. There’s a lot of syncopation, so you’ll be accenting the words on the downbeat. Since you’re a dancer, this probably goes against all your principles,” he says, and Jongin grins at him guiltily. “Thought so. But too bad. You have to sneak the breaths in.” Kyungsoo’s hands, Jongin watches, come up to clamp loosely around Jongin’s neck. The fingers really are small; not chubby but not quite thin and lithe like Soojung’s. Or Yixing’s. “Remember when you inhale, don’t gasp. You do that sometimes and the mic picks it up.”

Kyungsoo pushes his thumbs into Jongin’s Adam’s apple. The skin of his neck is on fire. Jongin swallows, and his throat bobs underneath Kyungsoo’s touch.

“And try not to strain yourself here. Don’t stretch the neck or else you’re stretching your voice thin,” he murmurs lowly. His lands linger, pushing a slow pressure into Jongin’s throat. “See? Your voice is an instrument you don’t want to break.” Up close, Kyungsoo smells a lot like clean laundry and some airy cologne. A scent caught somewhere in between the two. It mingles together nicely when Jongin inhales.

They move back at the same time, and Jongin coughs to clear his throat. It’s also strange, he decides, how his mind can wander even when he’s not alone. A sensation somewhere behind his eyes, in his chest, flares like a lighted fire. The feeling burns, laced with nostalgia, and Jongin suddenly feels the way he did when he was a high school student, in his old bedroom, desperately, desperately, trying to sleep.

He looks out the window, into the night, anchors himself with his partial reflection staring back at him and with the sound of Christmas tunes still filtering from speakers outside. In the morning, Jongin remembers, he’d always feel normal again. The feeling goes away. It goes away. He knows how to push it away. Bury it. Hide it.

It’s just late. And he hasn’t slept in twenty hours. So there’s that.

Kyungsoo presses play on the song. He starts a measure late on the chorus, having to clear his throat first, but then, his voice is soaring over the music. It fills the room, smooth and full and thick like velvet, the way Jongin had always known it was, except when he sings, all the distinct parts of his voice are magnified.

It’s a voice full of fire, and Jongin feels like Kyungsoo has lit the one that Jongin had just tried to put out seconds ago. It’s back, that burn, that sensation flowing through Jongin’s bloodstream. Kyungsoo’s got that vein along the side of the neck that emerges during those higher notes.

“Does the breathing technique make sense?” Kyungsoo says, when he stops after the chorus. And Jongin remembers him being a vocal coach, but he never remembered paying enough attention to him singing. He hadn’t sung a lot, even as a trainer. Jongin wishes he had. It’s not that Kyungsoo sings sweet, like an angel. It’s… definitely not that. It’s much, much more. It’s deeper and fuller.

Goose bumps decorate the skin on Jongin’s arms. He smooths them down with a hot hand.

“Honestly,” Jongin says, wetting dry lips. “I wasn’t paying attention at all to breathing techniques.”

Kyungsoo pauses. The small movement of his lips is hesitant and careful. There’s a new colour splashed across Kyungsoo’s face, and it’s not from his smile this time. It’s from the red tinting his cheeks, a flush across the paleness of his skin. Jongin feels warm, his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. It’s late, he tells himself, as his stomach clenches even though he knows he’s not hungry.

“Focus, Jongin,” Kyungsoo mumbles, hitting play again on the song.

They’re both tired, and stuff like this is stuff Jongin will put away in a lidded box to deal with later.


	2. Part 2

“Knock, knock,” Jongin says, strolling into Soojung’s practice room with his hands shoved into grey harem sweats. It’s the only pair of pants he’ll ever wear before 11AM.

“That defeats the purpose of a door,” Soojung chides, her curtain of hair styled straight, flowing down her back in a shiny waterfall. She looks good, clothes pressed and makeup done. She’s wearing that salmon pink parka that brackets her hips nicely.

She also looks thinner than Jongin remembers. And tired. Her cheekbones catch the light, and they jut out, too prominent.

“Where are you heading so early in the morning?” She’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, stapled set of papers between her fingers. Jongin plops down beside her, pats her head gently. She bites down at her lower lip. It’s chapped, like she’s forgotten to put lip balm on.

“It’s almost noon, Jongin,” she says, eyes moving left to right as she reads her paper. It’s an interview script, Jongin notices. “I’m headed to a recording. _Yu Huiyeol’s Sketchbook_.”

Jongin lets his hand linger, playing with the smooth ends of her long hair. Up close her jaw line is very sharp, the contours of her face dipping in too deep. “Another recording?” he says. She’s chewing at her lip too hard now and the skin is starting to go raw. Her eyes rest on her script, but they’re not moving anymore. “Are you feeling all right?”

She slides out of his touch with an exhale. “Of course,” she answers. Tucking her papers under her arm, she uncrosses her long legs, stands up. Jongin frowns, and catches her wrist. The material of her parka is soft and thick against his hand.

“You’d tell me if you’re ever feeling bad, right?” he asks. Through the parka, he squeezes her wrist comfortingly.

It’s been a while since it’s gotten bad for Soojung, but Jongin had been there to help her out before.

When Soojung turns to face him, her eyes aren’t tired-looking anymore. They’re hard and firm and it’s so icy that Jongin curls in a bit, releasing her wrist.

He remembers the first time they spoke, the first time he offered her a hug; a memory from trainee days, so Jongin doesn’t dig too deep. But he digs just enough to remember the feeling of her heartbeat against his chest; rapid against steady.

He hadn’t known her then. Anything he could have said to her would have been hollow, with no meaning. Instead he had hugged her, still strangers. Just two wordless silhouettes in the darkness. He’d walked in on her panic attack by accident, sometime well into the night when he hadn’t thought anyone else was still awake in the main building of the company. He never would have expected Jung Soojung, someone as bold as ice and fire itself, to have an anxiety disorder. But that’s what she explained to him after her tears ran out. “You saw none of this,” she had told him, glassy eyes daring him to challenge her.

These moments came few and far between, but when they did come, it was through stress, fear, the weight of intense expectation sitting on her shoulders. Sometimes, from just pure overthinking.

It could be what brought them together, Jongin thinks, because he sympathized with that feeling. And he admired the way Soojung could admit to herself that expectations scared her. He admired her catharsis, a means of acceptance; she accepted her fear and could still move on in spite of it.

But mostly, Jongin found that Soojung was brave in a way he was not. He was not brave enough to accept anything. To accept… his fears. Because that meant he was acknowledging he had any. He is not brave. He, instead, mastered the art of bottling it all up, and shoving it away, the things he didn’t understand and didn’t know how to handle. He compartmentalized beautifully. He could pretend, at least, that that was bravery.

The idol life is good for someone like him. Because then shoving everything away is part of the job. Shove, shove, shove. Become a whole new person, for the world to see.

Soojung blinks a moment later, and the iciness at the edges of her eyes is gone. It’s replaced by something else, but he can’t decide what it is. It’s not warmth either.

“I’m going to be late,” she says, pulling the drawstrings on her parka. She smiles at him, lukewarm. Barely there, kind of smile. Jongin hopes she’ll rest soon, so she’s not so tired all the time. “I’ll talk to you later.”

⊰ ⊱

Jongin steps into the van quickly, offering a final, tiny wave to the mass of people pushing in on him. From behind, someone claws at the hood of his jacket.

“No hands, please,” he hears Kyungsoo’s low mumble, indifferent and tired sounding, like he really couldn’t care less whether someone ripped a lock of Jongin’s hair out.

Laughing, Jongin helps pull Kyungsoo up into the van after him and the driver speeds off. “What’s so funny?” asks Kyungsoo, small hands already preoccupied with the impossibly busy schedule that he keeps on his phone. Jongin wonders if he slots away time in advance for things like sleeping and eating.

“You remind me of a lion cub,” says Jongin. “Because your size and face does not at all match your personality. It’s a terrible trick.”

Kyungsoo puts his phone away and bends down to retrieve two wrapped sandwiches from a takeout bag. He hands one of them to Jongin. “What’s wrong with my size?” says Kyungsoo, and the sandwich between Jongin’s fingers falls, tumbling to the floor. He looks at Kyungsoo incredulously, convinced that couldn’t have been an innocent comment, but Kyungsoo’s face is blank.

Jongin’s skin turns warm all over and _God_ it’s like he’s a teenager going through puberty.

“Um,” Jongin coughs, and picks up his sandwich hastily. “Are there cucumbers in this?”

“Do you not like cucumbers?” Kyungsoo unwraps his own lunch, peeling the plastic back, methodical and patient. Jongin just rips at the wrapping and bites off half of it to get something into his dry mouth.

“No, I do,” Jongin replies. “Vegetables are good for you. Maybe you never ate enough as a kid, hyung, otherwise you’d at least be at my elbow by now.”

“More short jokes? Be more original, at least.” Kyungsoo lifts an eyebrow, unamused, but he looks like he wants to smile so Jongin laughs and takes another bite of his sandwich. Kyungsoo frowns slightly, pulling out a napkin to wipe the food around Jongin’s mouth. “And eat like a human being while you’re at it.”

Rolling his eyes, Jongin takes the napkin from Kyungsoo because Jongin is definitely a grown man, and definitely not a pubescent teenage boy and he can wipe his own damn mouth. “That’s all the jokes I have in my repertoire, I’m afraid,” Jongin says. “Joonmyeon-hyung was short too so I had come up with a pretty solid list of short jokes over the years.”

“I feel like I should have a new found admiration for Joonmyeon,” Kyungsoo says, finally finished unwrapping the plastic off his food. He eats like a woodland creature, Jongin notices, because he literally _nibbles_ more so than he chews. “How did he put up with you for so long?”

Jongin laughs, more like a bark, the kind of laugh that he does too loud so if his voice were to shake, you wouldn’t notice. “Joonmyeon-hyung was great,” he says simply. He re-considers his words a second later.

Kyungsoo looks over at him, gaze like a flashlight in the middle of a dark room. It’s a searching look.

“We got along,” Jongin says, with a stiff finality, and Kyungsoo looks away again.

“Take this time to rest up as much as you can.” Nibble, nibble, nibble. He’s never going to finish eating if he eats that slow. Jongin’s finished his own sandwich, but if Kyungsoo can’t finish his, then Jongin will eat it. He’s still hungry. He’s pretty sure he’s still hungry, that’s why his insides feel so hollow. “You have day one of your music video recording tonight.”

“Okay,” Jongin exhales, and is grateful for the opportunity to escape into sleep.

⊰ ⊱

When Jongin wakes, it’s to a vibration against his thigh. By the time he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, a missed call alert pops up on the screen. _Yixing-hyung_ , it says.

 _what did u want yixingie_ _,_ Jongin texts. He looks outside the window, considering the distance, and they’re not close enough to Hongdae for Jongin to be able to convince Kyungsoo to take a small detour.

 _just checking in on my ~favourite~ dongsaeng ^^_ Yixing replies, quickly. _are you free for a lunch date soon?_

 _idk hyung, im a very busy person_ _,_ Jongin says, and if he could see Yixing, he would probably be rolling his eyes. Jongin smiles.

_Is that yes or no dummy?_

_im just kidding hyung u know its a yes_

_:-) ^^^^^^^^_

“That’s not a secret girlfriend, is it?” Kyungsoo says, from beside Jongin and Jongin frowns at him.

“Uh. No,” Jongin says, deciding not to reply to Yixing and his dumb (very endearing) emoticons. “Why?”

“You’re smiling at your phone like it’s a secret girlfriend.” Kyungsoo has a pen in one hand, filling out paperwork. He keeps writing as he talks. “But it’s good that it’s not.”

Jongin tilts his head, curiously. “I thought the less you know about me, the better,” he teases. He watches Kyungsoo’s hand falter, his slanted scrawl pausing for just a moment over the paper before he resumes.

“I need to know about things like secret girlfriends, though,” Kyungsoo says. “I’m the one that keeps track of your schedule, after all.”

The van is approaching the film studio soon. Jongin recognizes the area because he’s filmed several videos here before. “You’d rather I not have a girlfriend?”

“One less thing to account for,” answers Kyungsoo. Jongin stares at him for a few seconds, trying to decide if there was something behind his tone, a change in his wavelength, or if it’s just Jongin’s mind doing its thing again.

“Have you always kept organized, little schedules?” asks Jongin.

“More or less,” Kyungsoo says. “Maybe that’s why I’m a great manager. Super organized from day one.”

“I bet you slot in time for your own secret dates, huh hyung?” Jongin jokes cheekily.

“Sure, when I date.”

The heater is on too high because Jongin has to roll up his sleeves. He hums, non-committal, at Kyungsoo’s answer, although he wasn’t really expecting that. He wasn’t sure _what_ answer he was expecting. “How do your girlfriends feel about that?”

There is a flicker of something tense in Kyungsoo’s eyes, at his jaw, in the way he swallows even. But it’s tiny, a small spark, a quick flash of colour that is gone when Jongin blinks. And then it’s just Kyungsoo’s black eyes again; his black hair, black turtleneck and pale white skin.

Kyungsoo throws Jongin a neutral look, a tight, mild smile. It reminds Jongin of Joonmyeon, of the same way Joonmyeon had smiled at Jongin once, polite but reserved. The sort of smile put up as a guard.

“We’re here,” the driver announces. The ground beneath the van rumbles a little. Fans rush forward from all sides. The windows are tinted so Jongin rolls down his window a crack to wave his hand. At the corner of his eye, Kyungsoo arches a brow.

“What?” Jongin says to him, over the screaming. Someone has grabbed his hand and won’t let go.

“You know, you’re nicer than you want people to think you are,” Kyungsoo replies, gathering his papers neatly into a bag. “I don’t think you do the bad boy image very well. Hate to break it to you.” He pushes his hair back, fusses with it gently. Jongin swallows over the lump in his throat.

“So I’ve been told,” Jongin says. He pulls his hand back inside.

“You’re not even that much trouble to manage. I thought I’d be dealing with a lot worse, the way the media talks about you.”

Jongin gasps, exaggerated. “Uh oh. I’m totally off my game, then.”

Kyungsoo smiles, genuine this time, and shakes his head. “I like you better like this. Sweeter.”

The dip in his voice could have been imaginary, but either way, Jongin’s stomach flips and flops like a fish out of water, and Jongin tells himself there are a million explanations for that. None of which have anything to do with Kyungsoo.

⊰ ⊱

It’s his parents’ anniversary today. An alert on his phone reminds him. His sister had put it into his calendar, even though it’s not something they celebrate. Their family doesn’t celebrate most things. Birthdays mean nothing. Christmas isn’t a holiday to them. Chuseok is a hollow affair, the way a proper Christian goes to church but it doesn’t mean they pray. Jongin exhales into the December air. A fading puff of white strings out from his mouth as he does, lingering for a few seconds until it disappears.

It’s too cold to be out. People usually only spend time on the building rooftop when the weather is hot. But Jongin has always liked the cold, liked the feeling of winter wind whipping against his skin, travelling through his nostrils to leave an icy trail across his insides.

He used to come up here a lot, with Yixing. In the city, the sky is never clear enough to see real stars, but Yixing would talk about the constellations anyways and Jongin didn’t care because he just liked listening to Yixing talk. Sometimes, when he didn’t know a word, he’d have to slip back into Mandarin and Jongin didn’t understand that either but it was all right. It was nice hearing Yixing’s voice curl around his own language comfortably.

“There you are.”

Jongin’s head snaps up, at the sound of a voice that pulls him back to reality. His mind is doing it again; wandering.

Kyungsoo is dressed in one of those body-length puffy coats. He looks ridiculous. He walks over to Jongin, and it looks so much like a waddling penguin that Jongin laughs.

“Warm, hyung?” Jongin calls out to him.

“Very,” Kyungsoo says, as he approaches. “I thought you pulled a disappearing act on me. I would have chewed your head off.”

“That’s something I’d like to see.” Jongin stands from the bench, tries to stomp snow and slush off his shoes. “Lion cub.”

“How’s the script on that drama going?” Some of the slush flies up onto the bottom edges of Kyungsoo’s coat and Jongin laughs again when Kyungsoo scowls.

Playing nice, Jongin bends down and wipes away the stain with a gloved hand. “What script?” he jibes. Kyungsoo raises his foot like he wants to kick him. He probably would, Jongin thinks, if there wasn’t some sort of rule against that.

“I’m serious. You’re having an interview with Im Yoona soon. I hope you at least know what the drama is _about_.”

“Who’s Im Yura?”

“You’re so fucking screwed.”

Jongin grins, winking, and pokes Kyungsoo’s cheek lightly before Kyungsoo has time to flinch away. Or bite his finger off. “I’m just kidding. I’ll read the script in time for the interview.”

Kyungsoo’s jaw slackens. At least, Jongin thinks it does. He can’t really tell with the way Kyungsoo’s bundled up. “You mean you really haven’t read it yet?”

Jongin waves his hand around, as if it’s an acceptable answer. “Is Yoona-sunbae my co-star, then?”

“Yeah. She’s…” There’s a gust of wind that makes Kyungsoo cringe back into his coat for warmth. Jongin reaches out and adjusts his scarf for him. “She likes the script. I hear she’s excited to meet you too.”

The snow underneath Jongin’s shoe when he shifts makes a squelching noise. He’s wearing an old pair of sneakers, worn in at the toes, and he can feel his socks getting really wet. “All my friends had the biggest crush on Im Yoona when we were in high school.”

Kyungsoo looks down at Jongin’s shoes. Jongin thinks he can probably see the hole in it. “And now she’s Yoona-sunbae to you,” Kyungsoo says. “You must love that.”

“I guess.”

Kyungsoo looks up from the ground. “Was she not your crush?”

“What?”

“Your celebrity crush. Like your friends.”

“Oh.” Jongin had hung out a lot with Lee Taemin, even though Taemin was older. He and Taemin never really talked about girls. They hadn’t really talked at all. “I can’t remember.”

The wind is picking up now. Kyungsoo keeps shrinking into his coat.

When Jongin looks up, he sees the sky has turned greyer, the sun retreated behind heavy clouds. “What about you, hyung?”

Kyungsoo wipes his nose. It’s turned red. “Me?”

“Yeah.” Jongin pulls his gloves off, holds them out for Kyungsoo to take. “Who did teenage Kyungsoo-hyung have on his bedroom walls?”

Thumbing the fabric first, like he’s trying to determine how warm they are, Kyungsoo takes them reluctantly. He blinks up at Jongin through dark, thick eyelashes, and Jongin imagines, if it were snowing, snowflakes would look very pretty caught at the edges of the curl.

“Jeez. That was forever ago,” Kyungsoo says. “I was dating someone in high school.” The fingers on the gloves are too long for Kyungsoo’s hands. They hang around his wrists loosely, the way the sleeves on his turtlenecks do. “So I guess I never really thought about it.”

He makes fists at his side, clenching and unclenching, then hides them in the pockets of his puffy coat when he notices Jongin looking. “She must have been really pretty if you weren’t looking at anyone else,” Jongin says.

The breeze makes Jongin’s damp socks really cold against his foot. The fabric feels gross and scratchy and it clings to his skin. Kyungsoo crosses his arms over his chest to fight the cold.

“So what are you doing up here on the rooftop?” he asks.

Jongin’s toes curl. “I like it up here.”

Kyungsoo wrinkles his nose, like he’s personally offended. “It’s winter. It’s freezing. No one should ever be out in this weather.”

“You’re just too small to handle the cold, hyung.” Jongin pats Kyungsoo’s head, sagely. “Joonmyeon-hyung was like that too.”

Kyungsoo’s cheeks are turning a cherry red from the winter air. He’s pale so all the colour that flashes across his skin is more noticeable than it would be on Jongin, whose complexion is dark and tan.

There are similarities between Kyungsoo and Joonmyeon that Jongin tries not to notice. Like their size and their complete intolerance for cold weather. Their personalities are worlds apart, in hindsight, but Jongin thinks he’s finding that same ease he had with Joonmyeon, with Kyungsoo too.

Jongin doesn’t know if that’s a good thing.

“Can I ask you something?” Kyungsoo says, kneading his shoe into the slush.

Jongin blows warm air into his hands. “Why do you suddenly want to know things about me?”

Lifting his foot, Kyungsoo scrapes the slush off the bottom, rubbing it against the leg of a bench across from him. “Can I ask you or not?”

The rooftop has a nice view. It looks washed out and lifeless against a colourless sky, though. Jongin shrugs. “Shoot. You might miss, though.”

Kyungsoo licks his lips. Jongin looks back at the city, at the buildings stretched out in front of them. “Why do you always talk about Joonmyeon?”

Jongin’s stomach twists and tightens. The fire in his insides is back. He wishes he had a bottle of water, to wet his dry throat, to put out the flames. It’s hard to contain fires, so Jongin tries to put uncontrollable things in careful boxes, filing away memories he never wants to re-open. “Do I?”

Overhead, an airplane soars by and some of Kyungsoo’s words get stolen by the noise, but Jongin hears him anyways. “Were you guys…”

“Joonmyeon managed me from the day I debuted. We were close.”

The plane passes, and the air between them stiffens, thick and heavy. Jongin reconsiders his tone a second too late. “Right,” Kyungsoo says.

The knots in Jongin’s stomach loosen, the fire dies down. He looks at his phone, vibrating with new messages. _Stopping by tonight??_ Yixing asks. _That duo u like is back~_

Jongin looks over at Kyungsoo, red nose and cheeks colouring the grey around them. “Want to go somewhere?” Jongin says.

Kyungsoo’s eyebrows shoot up, lips parting and closing, trying to come up with something. “You can’t go out,” he argues.

“I do it all the time,” Jongin shrugs, and laughs when Kyungsoo frowns. “It’ll be fine. How often do you get out anyways, hyung?”

A scoff. “Being your manager? Not at all.”

Jongin grins. “Come on, then. I know a good place.”

⊰ ⊱

Kyungsoo parks several blocks from the bar because Jongin insists on walking. Hongdae is best on foot. Jongin finds peace in it. He likes the way Kyungsoo passes every busker with a smile. Kyungsoo is enjoying the night life, and a part of Jongin is strangely pleased, as if he’s just introduced two friends to each other and they’re getting along.

“I haven’t actually hung out here in a while.”

Jongin grins. “I love it here. Never got to experience it as a uni student or anything. But I feel like I can pretend to be normal here.”

“So that’s why you’re always escaping to Hongdae,” Kyungsoo says, large eyes twinkling from the street lights. Every step he takes is a cute penguin waddle. Jongin keeps that to himself though, because he knows Kyungsoo’s lion cub is still under that puffy coat.

“You’re missing out, hyung,” says Jongin. “When was the last time you were here?”

“Probably months.” He swipes at his nose, sniffling once, but his hand lingers, like he’s trying to draw strength from its warmth. He’s still wearing Jongin’s gloves. “I like seeing music like this, though. After you’ve been on the business side of things for a while, you forget how fun it is.”

Jongin stares at him in profile, tracing the slope of his nose to the tips of those dark eyelashes. “Yeah. It’s vast and wild, and yet it still finds a way into every person’s heart, in some shape.” Jongin remembers being seven years old, doing his homework on the dining room table. In the living room, his father—stoniest of them all—would hum along to Tchaikovsky. Jongin wouldn’t have gotten into ballet, started his love for dance and music, if it hadn’t been for those days hearing his father play all the songs from The Nutcracker. That’s the ironic part of it all. “It’s like… all these mismatched puzzle pieces that still manage to fit together somehow.”

At the end of the block, JEKYLL’s sign glows bright. Jongin breathes in the night air. He bounces a little on his feet, feeling the hard ground through his shoes. “Subjecting yourself to only one type of music is ridiculous. It’s like putting the ocean in a cup.”

Kyungsoo’s eyes are sly crescents when Jongin glances over at him.

“What?” Jongin says, patting Kyungsoo’s hooded head.

“Are you sure you were bad in school?” asks Kyungsoo and Jongin snorts. He presses his lips together, exhaling warm breath into the cold.

“I’m the _worst_ , hyung,” replies Jongin. He tugs his manager closer to him as the crowd gets thicker towards the entrance of the bar. “Don’t you forget it.”

JEKYLL is extra busy tonight because it’s a Friday. Jongin’s usual corner at the bar, however, has still been reserved. Yixing waves at him when he sees him.

“You made it,” Yixing greets, his eyes trailing. “With a… friend?”

Kyungsoo lowers his hood and bows his head. “I’m Do Kyungsoo. Jongin’s manager.”

“Ah,” says Yixing. “Of course. Jonginnie doesn’t really have friends.”

Jongin reaches across the counter to flick Yixing’s forehead playfully. “I don’t know why I thought it was okay for you two to meet. I’m totally gonna get ganged up on.”

Yixing grins and bows back at Kyungsoo. “I’m Zhang Yixing. Have a seat, Kyungsoo-ssi. What can I serve you? On the house, of course.”

“That’s very generous. Anything is good. But no alcohol, please. I’m driving,” Kyungsoo replies. He unzips his coat, frowning when the zipper snags on the fabric. Jongin fixes it for him, helping him out of the sleeves after.

“You can keep the coat on if you’re cold, hyung,” Jongin says, as Kyungsoo hands him back his gloves. “Your nose is still all red.”

“It’s okay in here. I’m warm.” Kyungsoo reaches out and adjusts the black cap on Jongin’s head, before stepping around him. “I’m going to the bathroom for a minute.”

Yixing is mixing some kind of seltzer. Jongin knows the movements, the way he steps around the drinks station like a choreographed dance. “Is he older than us?” Yixing asks.

Jongin swallows. “Yeah. Four years on me. Two on you.”

“You guys look close already. That’s a good thing, right?” Yixing blinks up at Jongin once, and then back down again.

“Yeah,” says Jongin. “We get along.”

“Are you…” Yixing’s words trail off, or get lost into the noise. Either way, he doesn’t finish. Jongin bites down on his lip, lifts his eyes up to Yixing gratefully. Yixing is a gentle, gentle soul.

“The bathrooms are dark and stuffy,” Kyungsoo says, when he returns. He hoists himself up onto a bar stool, but his legs are too short, so they dangle an inch or two off the ground.

Yixing laughs, lightly. “Sorry. It’s not always like that. A few bulbs died the other night.” He slides the drink across the counter. “No alcohol.”

The spotlight on the small stage goes out. Jongin recognizes that duo, with their box drum and guitar. He can put faces to names now, after he had met them at their last performance. Park Chanyeol is the tall one with the guitar strapped against his chest, and his smaller friend seated on the box drum is Byun Baekhyun.

They’re like Yixing, Jongin learned from meeting them; a love for music but not the industry.

Chanyeol taps the mic twice. “Hey guys.” A smooth baritone filters out the speakers. “If you don’t know us, we like to have some fun with pop music. This is a Kai song. Hope you don’t mind.”

A casual applause. Jongin claps just a little bit louder.

“What kind of music do you like, Kyungsoo-ssi?” Yixing asks, as Chanyeol and Baekhyun fiddle around with the audio guy, doing a quick sound check.

“Music?” Kyungsoo sips his drink, tentative. “I don’t know. All music has something to offer.”

Jongin can sense the way Yixing’s eyes cut over to him, but only for a moment. “I can see why Jongin keeps you around,” Yixing says, laughing to make it lighthearted. Kyungsoo smiles back politely.

Chanyeol and Baekhyun start. Jongin sees Kyungsoo lean forward in his seat when Baekhyun starts up the beat on the box drum. It’s captivating, the way the song moves; how much it can be changed, but still hang close to its original form.

On the second chorus, Jongin hears the harmony; a major third above what Chanyeol is singing, except it’s not Baekhyun harmonizing. It’s Kyungsoo, humming along softly beside Jongin.

The lighting in the bar is dim, and Kyungsoo is still dressed in his usual all black, from head to toe. Still, Jongin stares, because Kyungsoo’s voice radiates colour.

“Jongin.”

It’s Yixing, tapping his fingers on the countertop between them. He blinks at Jongin; once, twice. Jongin stares back, scared of the knowing slant at the end of Yixing’s eyes.

“Can I make you a drink?” he asks, that look disappearing with a small smile. Jongin breathes in, deeply through his nose. Yixing; always, always so gentle.

“Just something light for tonight,” Jongin sighs. Chanyeol and Baekhyun’s first song ends. Their next one is an original that Jongin had heard last time too. It’s his favourite from their set list.

Yixing wipes his hands on a towel. “Screwdriver is okay?”

“Sure,” Jongin answers. He peeks over at Kyungsoo. “Anything else for you, hyung?”

“I'll take another round of this, if Yixing-ssi will let me pay for it this time,” Kyungsoo says, holding out his empty glass.

“You heard him, Yixing-hyung,” Jongin chuckles, tapping the countertop.

They stay until the end of Chanyeol and Baekhyun’s set. Jongin waves at the duo from across the bar, once before they leave. It’s too busy with university students tonight, for Jongin to go over and greet them.

Yixing walks Jongin and Kyungsoo out of the bar and Jongin pulls down his black cap, as far down his face as it will go. It’s gotten colder. There’s a breeze that makes his teeth chatter for a second.

“What do I tell you about getting sick?” Yixing frets, zipping Jongin’s windbreaker up to his chin. “I know you have real jackets, so please wear them.”

Jongin smiles and covers Yixing’s hands with his own. “Okay, _mom_ ,” he teases. “Go back inside.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets. They’re empty.

“Oh shit.” He pats himself down. “One sec. I left my wallet at the bar.”

It’s still there when Jongin retreats to his seat. He walks in quickly before someone has time to spot him. When he steps back outside, he hears Yixing’s voice, from beside the door. He and Kyungsoo both have their backs turned, and Jongin watches Yixing huddle in a little closer.

“… and—well, he’s still just a kid, you know?” Yixing says, haltingly. He’s outside without a coat, so he hops from foot to foot, keeping warm. “He grew up with strict parents and… expectations.” He scratches at the back of his neck. “He’s hard on himself. Um. But he’s a good kid. So thanks for being patient. And looking out for him.”

“I know he’s not as bad as everyone makes him out to be,” Kyungsoo replies, and Jongin swallows thickly.

“Good. Thanks, Kyungsoo-ssi. Jongin… he’s just got stuff about himself he needs to sort out.”

Kyungsoo is silent for a moment. Yixing crosses his arms over his chest. “I get that,” Kyungsoo says eventually. Jongin sees his narrow shoulders shrug. “Doesn’t everybody?”

“Found it,” Jongin clears his throat loudly, striding over to them, waving his wallet. “Lucky it was still there.”

Yixing steps back, wets his lips. “Great. Well I’m freezing. Get home safe, guys.”

“Nice meeting you, Yixing-ssi,” Kyungsoo bows. Yixing smiles, faint. “You too. Just Yixing, for the next time we meet, okay?”

“I’ll keep it in mind. ‘Hyung’ works for me,” Kyungsoo chuckles. Jongin frowns, looping his arm through Kyungsoo’s.

“Don’t say that, hyung. He’ll steal you away from me. I’ll die without your organized schedules.”

Yixing laughs. “Have a good night. Make sure Jongin goes home.”

In the van, Jongin falls asleep. It feels like a single second before his apartment materializes in front of him when he opens his eyes.

“Get real amounts of shut-eye, okay?” Kyungsoo flicks Jongin’s head, softly. “I’m getting you at seven am sharp.”

“Mmm. Let me catch a few minutes in here.”

Kyungsoo exhales, deep and exhausted. “Jongin… go up now.”

“Nooo, it’s nice and toasty in here.”

“Jongin, I have a thirty minute drive ahead of me.” Impatient, Kyungsoo reaches over and unbuckles Jongin’s seatbelt for him. “The ice on the roads is bad.”

Jongin rubs at his eyes blearily. “Just sleep with me, then.”

“What?” Kyungsoo shivers, teeth chattering.

The heater whirs on high. When Jongin pops open his door, the cold air that rushes in is sharp. “It’s late. Stay over tonight if you don’t want to drive.”

“Are you… sure that’s okay?”

Jongin blinks. “Why not?” He shuts off the engine before Kyungsoo can say more. “If the ice is bad, you shouldn’t be driving anyways.”

Kyungsoo rubs his gloved hands together, blowing his fringe out of his eyes on a sigh. “Whatever. You win.”

“Don’t I always?” teases Jongin.

When they’re upstairs, Kyungsoo doesn’t make a single comment about the unfortunate state of Jongin’s living room or the even worse bedroom. He can tell how tired Kyungsoo is, then, if he’s not sparing a single quip.

Kyungsoo comes out of Jongin’s bathroom with his denim pants on, but his black turtleneck hangs over his shoulder. Jongin tosses him a sweater and some sweats. “It’s from high school. They’re small on me, so they should fit you all right.”

“High school, huh?” Kyungsoo folds his turtleneck neatly, places it atop Jongin’s dresser. “You’re the type to keep old memories?”

Kyungsoo has a pale torso, the skin around his stomach looking even softer than his face. Jongin shakes his head, unbuttoning his dress shirt. He shrugs out of the sleeves and watches Kyungsoo put on the sweater. The room feels warm.

“No,” replies Jongin. That sweater had been at the very back of his closet, at the bottom of a messy pile he never bothers to fold.

He grabs a t-shirt that is crumpled on his bed. Kyungsoo is staring at him, Jongin can see from the corner of his eye. His gaze makes that fire in Jongin’s stomach burn hot.

“Do you have a blanket I could borrow for the couch?” Kyungsoo asks. Jongin slips into the t-shirt quickly.

“Hyung, you’re not sleeping on the couch.”

“You don’t have a guest room, either?” Kyungsoo’s eyebrows furrow.

“Hyung,” Jongin rolls his eyes. “Come on, there’s plenty of room if we squish.” He throws the duvet back and pats the extra pillow pointedly. Kyungsoo, hesitant, slides in.

Jongin switches the light off. The room goes dark. Moonlight casts a long shadow of Kyungsoo’s small figure across the sheets.

“Yixing is nice,” Kyungsoo says, once Jongin has settled into the covers. “It was nice meeting him.”

“He is. _Too_ nice sometimes. Like a mama bear.”

They’re both lying on their backs, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Their arms under the duvet are brushing. “You seem like you’ve been… friends a long time.”

Jongin hums. “How can you tell?”

Through the blinds, the moonlight catches the tips of Kyungsoo’s long, long lashes. They’re illuminated in the darkness. “Do you know that you look at him the way Soojung looks at you?”

For a second, the air shifts and Jongin wonders how awake he is. His lungs are heavy when he inhales. “I’m not sure what—“

“Never mind,” Kyungsoo says. He rubs at his eyes, fatigued, and mumbles so Jongin isn’t sure if he’s even heard him. “I could be wrong.”

The stretch of silence afterwards is long enough to make Jongin think Kyungsoo has fallen asleep. Jongin hasn’t, though. He’s wide awake.

“I’m the kind of person who keeps memories.”

Jongin looks over at him. “What?”

“You said you don’t keep memories,” Kyungsoo goes on. “But I do. They’ve helped me. I remember high school very clearly.”

High school was a suffocating cloud of expectations for Jongin; knowing that what he was supposed to want wasn’t what he really wanted. High school was frightening. “Maybe you had good high school memories, then.”

Kyungsoo laughs, short and dry. “No. At the time, I thought they were… good.” He clears his throat. “But looking back at it, no. I was dating someone for three years. And then they dropped me in an instant.” Jongin can see the way Kyungsoo chews at his lower lip. He blinks slowly, as if he’s already half asleep. Maybe that explains it, Jongin thinks. Sleep clouds the brain-to-mouth filter.

“How could she do that?” Jongin frowns. He tries to imagine watching a young, bright-eyed Kyungsoo breaking to pieces. The thought sits, uncomfortable, in his gut; a hypothetical stain on his conscience. “Your girlfriend. How do you just drop someone from your life?”

The outline of Kyungsoo’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his eyes shut tight. Under the sheets, he pulls his arm away. Jongin feels the cold with a shiver.

“He,” Kyungsoo says, “was ashamed.”

Where their skin had touched, Jongin’s arm tingles, bright and hot. The temperature spikes, a sharp spark igniting a fire at the base of Jongin’s throat all the way to his toes. Kyungsoo doesn’t seem to feel the same suffocating heat. Instead, he curls back into Jongin’s warmth.

Their legs bump, Kyungsoo’s thigh hitting the bare skin of Jongin’s legs. He sighs, nuzzling into Jongin’s neck and in an instant, Jongin’s mind is a storm; reeling, intoxicated by the overwhelming smell of Kyungsoo’s cologne mixed with the soap in his own bathroom. It overrides his senses, stronger than any shot of whiskey Jongin has ever had.

“I told you,” Kyungsoo whispers, hot breath pressed right up to Jongin’s ear. Jongin can feel Kyungsoo’s lips moving against his neck. “I can still move to the couch.”

There’s an immeasurable amount of time that passes before Jongin can even feel his tongue. He feels like he’s breathing in clouds of smoke, a haziness in his mind that registers Kyungsoo’s touch. So acutely. He shudders. Kyungsoo notices immediately and starts to pull away, but Jongin catches Kyungsoo’s wrist to still him.

Slowly, he pulls Kyungsoo’s arm towards him, until it rests on Jongin’s torso. Jongin shifts, feeling the up and down of Kyungsoo’s stomach as he inhales and exhales.

Kyungsoo fans his fingers across the fabric of Jongin’s t-shirt, pressing gently into the muscle underneath. Heat blossoms, pools messily like an ink stain, deep in Jongin’s gut.

“Jongin?” he whispers again. “Tell me if this is not okay. If I should leave.” His hand against Jongin’s stomach is so, so warm. “Please be honest.”

The answer is on the tip of Jongin’s lips, poised and ready because he knows he doesn’t even need to think about it. “Don’t leave, hyung. I don’t want you to leave,” Jongin says, and he closes his eyes but doesn’t sleep for hours.


	3. Part 3

The café they meet in is just down the street from Hongik exit 3. Warm sunlight filters unabashed through the windows, the soft orange glow of a setting sun. It’s a little too early in the night for Jongin to be out, but he brought a mask this time and he’s taking his chances.

“This isn’t really lunch, you know. It’s almost five,” Yixing says when Jongin walks over to the table, pulling his chair out.

“I don’t pick my hours,” Jongin nudges Yixing’s ankle playfully with his foot. “You know that.”

The waitress comes over to pour them drinks, and if she recognizes Jongin, she keeps it to herself. When she leaves, Yixing looks back at Jongin and smiles. And it’s… a strange smile. Not the kind Jongin has ever seen on Yixing. It’s careful and tentative. It reminds him of Junmyeon’s smiles—restrained, pulled tight at the edges, as if to hold back the words in his mouth.

It gives Jongin that slow, dripping feeling of dread sliding down his back.

“I know,” Yixing says. He pulls back his feet under the table, out of Jongin’s reach. “Let’s order.”

“This is the second time in one week that I’m seeing you. What’s the occasion?” Jongin jokes.

Yixing doesn’t really laugh. “No occasion. Just… I wanted to meet you sober.”

Their food comes quickly, and Yixing starts smiling normally again and it’s all okay. Jongin is okay. His Penne Carbonara tastes really good.

“When’s your comeback?” asks Yixing, once they’re well into their meals. “I’ve been waiting patiently for Kai’s return.”

“Next month. Probably around my birthday,” replies Jongin. “I guess they want to start the year off with a bang.”

“Of course they do,” Yixing says, laughing. His soup is basically untouched, even though Jongin’s almost done his own food. “How’s Kyungsoo-hyung?”

Jongin sips his water. “He’s good.”

“Good?” Yixing furrows his eyebrows. It reminds Jongin of the nights he had spent trying to teach Yixing Korean, and Yixing would struggle with certain words. But every time he got a phrase right, his eyes lighted up and he looked at Jongin with all this gratefulness and warmth. “I quite like him. But he seems quieter than Joonmyeon was. Is he nice?”

There’s something in Yixing’s tone that makes Jongin shift uncomfortably in his seat. He ignores it. “Not really,” Jongin says, pushing around the pasta on the plate lazily with his fork. “He can be pretty brusque.”

Yixing puts his spoon down and Jongin can feel the weight of his gaze. “But he’s still ‘good’? I wouldn’t think you’d be okay with brusque people, since you’re like that yourself.”

“It’s…” Jongin doesn’t really feel like eating anymore. “He’s only like that sometimes.”

“I see.”

“And… he also sings. Very well. Like… there’s not quite a word for it except, fiery? Deep and smooth and better than anything I’ve ever heard.” Jongin drops his fork with a clang because he hadn’t realized his hands were sort of trembling.

He stares at Yixing across the table. Their gazes are level, and Jongin reads his. Yixing wants to open those boxes, the ones Jongin has shoved away to the furthest edges of his mind, in the deepest corners of his old, teenage bedroom.

“Jongin,” Yixing says, with all the gentleness of his soul. Yixing is gentleness itself. He’s always been too gentle, a warm blanket that Jongin wraps around himself too tightly to feel safe and protected. “Is he ‘ _good’_ like Junmyeon?”

When Jongin doesn’t answer, Yixing puts his hand over Jongin’s—comfortingly, like he’s done a million times before, and like Jongin’s done for Soojung a million times too. Except this time, it’s different because Jongin is hyper aware. He’s aware of prying eyes and he’s aware of himself and who he is and what he is and right now, Yixing’s touch burns with all the emotions that release inside Jongin like Pandora’s Box. His insides fall, like a 90 degree drop from the top of a roller coaster, heart plummeting to his toes to leave a shock of electricity in its wake.

Jongin pulls his hand back hastily. And there it is, that look. He sees that mix of sympathy and apology that Yixing gives him and it’s the same one, the exact same one, that Junmyeon had given Jongin that time he had said, _I’m getting married, Jongin._

“I’m sorry,” Yixing says, picking his spoon up again but by now, their meals are long forgotten, gone cold. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“Yes you did.” Jongin’s voice comes out thick and gravelly.

“What?”

Jongin licks his lips. His tongue is dry. “You meant to say that. You’ve been wanting to say that for a while, probably, it’s just there’s a lot of things you don’t say aloud, hyung.”

“Jongin…”

“I’m not mad, it’s okay.” Are his eyes burning? He can’t cry. That wouldn’t be… “It’s unfair of me to be mad. You don’t deserve that. I can’t be mad at you for being a friend.”

Yixing pauses, and Jongin still can’t look up at him. He’s afraid to find that warm, safety blanket look in Yixing’s eyes. Jongin is afraid to fall back into it, to wrap it around himself again.

“I have a girlfriend,” Yixing says. His voice is soft, very light, as if floating in the air.

Jongin bites the inside of his cheek and smiles down at his Penne Carbonara because that’s where he’s looking. “That’s great, hyung.”

“Jongin—“

“Is that why you called me out?” Jongin asks. “You didn’t have to go through all the trouble. You could have just texted me.”

“Jongin, _listen_. Stop _doing_ that.”

Jongin tastes blood in his mouth, from biting too hard. “What am I doing?”

“ _That_ ,” Yixing says, on a frustrated sigh. They don’t argue. They’ve never argued, even after that one time Jongin had shoved Yixing, squared-palmed, into the wall and told Yixing to never talk to him again. Jongin’s throat feels like it’s closing.

With his fork, Jongin swirls around the muddled pasta sauce. He thinks about the morning last week where he had woken up to Kyungsoo in his bed, clinging to Jongin in his sleep. He had been less of a lion cub and more of a koala bear.

Yixing keeps going. “I care about you. I did then, and I still do.”

Jongin pictures their teenage selves in the practice room at night.

“I know that,” Jongin hears himself saying.

“Can you look at me please?”

Yixing’s hair is dyed this dark brown that looks just the way it was when they first met. Jongin wonders if it’s just as soft as it was back then too, like those times Yixing had settled into Jongin’s lap and Jongin ran his fingers through the smooth strands.

“Don’t disappear on me, okay?” Yixing says. His eyes tell Jongin that he knows the way Jongin runs, and Yixing won’t let him run from this. Jongin runs a finger along his knuckles. He could never really run from Yixing, he knows. If he could, he would have done it already.

Jongin smiles at him, tired but not fake. “I won’t, hyung,” he says, feeling happy for Yixing, despite everything else. “Let me meet your girlfriend, okay?”

Yixing’s eyes light up, that same way they did all those years ago, and something in Jongin lightens. “Of course,” Yixing smiles, radiant.

Jongin finishes the rest of his water, and he thinks he feels his heart resurfacing to its normal place. “I have an issue,” he says, a moment later. “You can’t bring her over on video game nights.”

Yixing kicks him under the table and the cloud of tension over their heads clears up in an instant. “Jeez,” he laughs, “Don’t be such a brat.”

“Brat? I thought I was your favourite dongsaeng.”

Their feet lock, mid-kick. Yixing gives him a look, that one that Jongin has always found warmth in. “You _are_ my favourite dongsaeng,” he says, and pauses for a while. “My girlfriend’s name is Song Qian.”

“She sounds really pretty.”

Yixing laughs. “She’s also very kind and when you do meet her, I think you’ll think so too.”

Jongin thinks Yixing looks really happy. And that thought is settling. “Why do you say that?”

“Because,” Yixing says, “There are no secrets between me and her.”

Jongin looks up from his plate. “What?”

“There are no secrets,” Yixing says again, “She’s a fan of yours. And I told her about us. Us, as in, when we were trainees together.”

The lid on the box is open and Jongin doesn’t know how to close it.

But maybe, Jongin realizes, it already opened. Maybe it opened when he first heard Kyungsoo sing or when he woke up to Kyungsoo beside him in his bed, and couldn’t fight the urge to push the hair back on his forehead.

“You… told her?”

Yixing nods. “I told her. And you know what, Jongin? She’s still your fan.”

⊰ ⊱

Once in high school, before he had joined the agency, Jongin had dated a really pretty girl named Park Sooyoung. She was pretty as in, really, _really_ pretty. Idol pretty, except she wasn’t an idol so even Jongin’s parents liked her.

She was not only pretty, she was nice and funny and somehow shared his dumb addiction for cheesy sports anime. All of his friends were also really jealous of him because she smelled like fresh flowers and kissed his cheek for people to see and had all these black and white dresses she would wear that slimmed down her legs beautifully.

So when he broke up with her, his mouth forming words that felt like another person was saying them, no one understood why he had done it. Not even himself. Or rather, especially himself. He watched her eyes cloud over like dirty smudges across a pair of glasses’ lenses and when she started crying and asking what she did wrong, Jongin kept saying nothing, nothing. Absolutely nothing. _Nothing is wrong with you, Sooyoung, you’re perfect_. And she cried some more and called Jongin a liar.

And Jongin really was a liar. So many lies. All those lies he’d end up burying, burying, burying until they were so deep into the ground that he could convince himself they hadn’t existed in the first place.

But not all of it was fake. Maybe that’s why he held on so long. He hadn’t lied about all of it. Not about how perfect she was and not about how much he cared for her.

She was perfect. But Jongin is an incongruent puzzle piece and she wasn’t, and no matter how hard Jongin tried, they couldn’t fit together.

She left quickly. He shouldn’t have let her. His insides felt like cold, freezing ice, and it had been hard for him to move for a while. He watched her pretty, black hair sway back and forth as she ran off, eyes red and face flushed the same colour, and he knew he was selfish and terrible.

When he got home, he closed his bedroom door, and curled up on the floor with his back against the bed. It was cold in his room, even though the summer weather that year had been the hottest on record in a long time. He was cold in his room. As cold as his heart.

He was selfish and terrible.

Because when he took a deep breath, a shuddering inhale, his shirt still sort of smelled like Lee Taemin’s cologne. And it was a really nice smell. He hated it. He hated how it lingered on his shirt, through the fabric and into his skin. He hated that as he smelled it, he couldn’t remember what Sooyoung’s flowers smelled like at all.

The thought made his throat feel like it was closing, like he was choking and sobbing on air.

Jongin slept in that shirt, falling asleep to the scent of Lee Taemin’s cologne. In the morning, at breakfast, his mother asked him if he would be out late with Sooyoung again.

“No,” he had said, sitting on his hands because they trembled. “She actually broke up with me yesterday.”

Later, he put that shirt in a box and threw it under the bed so he’d never see it again.

⊰ ⊱

As Jongin’s comeback preparation ramps up, his days get even longer. Kyungsoo stays with him through all his practices, even the ones that go well into the early hours of the morning, and Jongin watches him go through a million cups of coffee to stay awake. He knows Kyungsoo’s getting desperate for caffeine when he starts drinking the sweet Maxim instant packs in the lunch rooms.

Kyungsoo starts crashing at Jongin’s more often than not. It’s not on purpose, really, but more out of necessity. Jongin doesn’t want him to drive home alone after such long hours, worried he’ll fall asleep without Jongin there to chat his ear off and keep him awake. Most nights, they collapse straight into bed, Jongin stripping down just to his boxers while Kyungsoo fishes out Jongin’s smallest sweaters from his closet. He climbs under the covers a few minutes later, and Jongin rolls over instinctively, to press him against his chest.

He doesn’t know when it starts to feel so normal; why by the end of a couple weeks, Jongin can hardly remember what it was like to _not_ fall asleep to Kyungsoo’s steady breathing.

Eventually, Jongin decides to order a coffee machine for his apartment.

“What’s this?” Kyungsoo asks, still half-asleep. He usually wakes up first, but the delivery had come in sometime yesterday and Jongin hadn’t had time to set it up yet. He’d wanted to have it ready before they left this morning. “Is that a coffee machine? It’s fancy.”

“Yeah,” Jongin tugs Kyungsoo by the wrist, and Kyungsoo stands beside him as he turns it on. The buttons light up. “You spend so much money on americanos and stuff. So I got this, and now you can at least bring some into work. I had Yixing-hyung tell me what capsules to buy, so I promise it’s good quality.”

Kyungsoo is silent, blinking at the machine. Jongin realizes he’s still holding Kyungsoo’s wrist, and Kyungsoo looks down, pulling away and then twining their fingers together. Jongin feels his heart fly up into his throat. 

“Did you…” Kyungsoo’s chewing his lip, “buy this for me?”

“Well, I like coffee too, hyung,” Jongin laughs, and his voice is shaking. He did buy it for Kyungsoo, but hearing him say it aloud suddenly… Jongin doesn’t know why it feels like he’s just run a marathon. “But… well, yeah. I did kind of buy it. With you in mind.” He unlocks their hands, circles his arm around Kyungsoo’s shoulders. He used to think Kyungsoo had narrow shoulders, but lately they seemed a lot broader. Maybe because Jongin’s spending so much time clinging to him, he’s realizing Kyungsoo isn’t as small as he thought he was.

“Oh,” Kyungsoo finally looks up at him. Looks up at him, right through his dark eyelashes. Jongin absolutely cannot breathe. “No one’s ever bought me something before.”

Jongin smiles. “Does that mean I’m special or something?”

Kyungsoo’s hand come up to press against the muscles of Jongin’s stomach. Jongin hadn’t bothered to dress yet, not wanting to wake up Kyungsoo, and now he’s acutely aware of how much skin he has exposed. He knows he’s next to naked, and he’s always been quite comfortable with his body (he’s done whole concerts barely clothed, after all), but under the weight of Kyungsoo’s gaze, beneath those impossible eyelashes, it’s different. It’s so different.

After what feels like forever, Kyungsoo leans into him, wrapping his arms around Jongin’s bare torso. He can feel Kyungsoo smile against his chest. “Thanks, Jongin.” 

⊰ ⊱

For Christmas, Jongin always gives dumb gifts. He knows it’s more of a couple-thing, to give Christmas gifts, but he started doing it as a joke years ago and it just kept going. This year, he gives Yixing a hat that he knows is too big for him and writes “ _Because your head is full of worries all the time. Also your head is just big.”_ For Soojung, Jongin gets her glow sticks and a notebook from her own line of fan merchandise that has her face on it because he knows she hates anything with her face on it.

Jongin isn’t sure what to buy Kyungsoo, but he doesn’t know if Kyungsoo even celebrates Christmas anyways. For Junmyeon, presents had been easy. Jongin could give him a paper clip, and Junmyeon would probably tear up with gratitude. But Jongin doesn’t think Kyungsoo’s that sort. He did technically get Kyungsoo the coffee machine, but to call it a Christmas present would be… maybe too suggestive, so he’s glad he’d bought it before Christmas.

Two weeks after New Years’, Jongin has his comeback stage. Yixing sends him a good luck text, although Jongin isn’t nervous. He doesn’t get nervous; not when every step, breath and movement is laid out for him. The mold is already there, and he just has to fall into it. Being on stage is the easiest part of his life.

Kyungsoo comes into the dressing room just after Jongin finishes shimmying into the tightest pair of leather pants he’s ever worn. Today, Kyungsoo is dressed in a black pullover hoodie and sneakers. He looks like a teenager.

“You seem like you got less sleep than _me_ ,” Jongin says, doing up the buttons on a black dress shirt. Both his stylist and makeup artist are running late. He’s been left to his own devices. “And I got about a solid two hours, to be honest.”

“Yeah, well,” Kyungsoo rubs vigorously at his face, a long exhale through his mouth that blows up the hair of his fringe. “The woes of managing a superstar.”

“A lot to sort out?” Jongin grins at him. “You’ll survive. Joonmyeon-hyung is living proof.”

“I don’t know if I can even schedule in time for you to _eat_. You know you have two interviews _and_ a CF shoot right after this?” Kyungsoo plays with the drawstrings on his hoodie, sits cross-legged on the couch. It takes him down several years, the scuffs on his sneakers and the way he ruffles his hair, frustrated. He purses his lips, and for a fleeting second, Jongin remembers the pressure of Kyungsoo’s small thighs sandwiched between his own, and the sight of Kyungsoo’s full lips parted in sleep.

With those memories, Jongin had done what he always does—puts the memory in a box. It’s a flurry of colours in Jongin’s world of black and white.

“There’s _always_ time to eat. Don’t be ridiculous,” Jongin says. Kyungsoo’s chewing at his lip, a nervous habit of his, now that Jongin has started noticing. He’s started noticing a lot of things about Kyungsoo, like the way his pants fill the outline of his thighs or how soft his hands look in his lap.

Jongin nestles into the chair at the makeup counter. All the items are laid out in front of him, but he doesn’t know what to do with any of it. “Where’s the makeup artist?” Kyungsoo asks from the couch. “Why is there no one in here with you?”

“The snow buildup on the roads got bad just after we left. Everyone’s _late_.” Jongin pumps a bottle of something and a mess of liquid squirts out. He furrows his eyebrows. “I was told that another makeup artist would come in to help me but she hasn’t shown up yet.”

“I could probably start you off.” Kyungsoo unfolds his legs and walks across the room, examining the makeup counter with a pout. “I’m pretty sure we do… this one first.”

“‘Pretty sure’?” Jongin makes a face. “I’d prefer it if we stuck to our expertise, hyung.”

“What’re you talking about? I’m an idol manager. My expertise is _everything_.” Kyungsoo picks up a squeeze bottle, the darkest shade on the counter.

Jongin stares at him, curiously. “Where did you learn makeup, of all things?” asks Jongin. Kyungsoo warms the liquid between his fingers and slathers it evenly onto Jongin’s face. The way he moves isn’t any different than the way Jongin’s makeup artist usually does it.

“Here and there. I know the basics.” Kyungsoo’s tongue peeks out between his lips, in concentration. Jongin closes his eyes. “I probably couldn’t shape eyebrows or whatever. But I know enough.” He hears Kyungsoo put the bottle down. Jongin looks up at him again, as Kyungsoo picks up a thin, black stick.

“The eyeliner is the most important part, anyways,” he says. He tilts his head, staring straight into Jongin’s eyes. Jongin can see his own reflection in Kyungsoo’s dark pupils. “This is going to be hard,” he murmurs, frowning, and squares Jongin’s shoulders. “Stay still.”

The angle is awkward. Kyungsoo has to bend over, his arm jutting out strangely and unsteadily. “I can _feel_ the eyeliner going up towards my eyebrow,” Jongin comments. It earns him a light slap to his cheek, but it ends up softer than Jongin expects and it’s more of an affectionate pat.

Kyungsoo wipes a makeup remover cloth across Jongin’s eyelid. “I’m trying my best,” Kyungsoo retorts. He grabs the eyeliner again and stares back at Jongin. Kyungsoo’s tongue comes out, to swipe nervously at his lips. “I have an idea,” he says, and reaches out again to touch Jongin’s shoulder. Except this time, Kyungsoo’s hands remain and he’s leaning forward, moving closer. “Stay still,” he murmurs. “Okay?”

The saliva at the back of Jongin’s throat feels heavy and lethargic. “Okay,” he says, hoarsely.

Hands pressed into Jongin’s shoulders, Kyungsoo balances himself and settles right into Jongin’s lap. His thighs part, bracketing both sides of Jongin’s hips.

“There we go,” Kyungsoo says, under his breath. Melted butter in Jongin’s ears. Kyungsoo uncaps the eyeliner again and traces it across Jongin’s lash line with precision, while Jongin tries not to squirm and just to _stay still_ , but it’s hard when Kyungsoo’s butt brushes against the leather of Jongin’s pants and Jongin _can’t breathe_.

“Aren’t you going to ask?” Kyungsoo says, softer this time. Jongin watches his lips. They’re so close that he can see the smoothness of the skin, the pinkness near the fold from where Kyungsoo is always biting.

Jongin tries to swallow. It does nothing for him, the saliva just collecting at the back of his throat with the rest of it. “Ask what?” he says, but it comes out a whisper.

“Why I know how to do makeup,” replies Kyungsoo, his small hands resting on Jongin’s cheek. Kyungsoo shifts, and every time he does, the friction creates a burning heat that he can feel through his leather pants.

Jongin licks at his lips for moisture. He doesn’t realize he’s staring at Kyungsoo’s mouth while he does it, doesn’t realize that Kyungsoo is staring right back at him. Kyungsoo’s dark, dark eyes are searching.

“I asked you that already,” Jongin says, still a whisper. Maybe he’s scared to raise his voice. Maybe hearing his words would make them feel all the more real.

“But aren’t you thinking it?” Kyungsoo’s hands drop from Jongin’s face.

“I don’t…” Jongin feels blinded. He feels like he’s seeing an explosion of colour before his eyes and it’s blinding. The fabric of their pants feels thin. The pressure of Kyungsoo’s thighs at his hips are distracting. Kyungsoo’s face is even more so. The dressing room lights are bright overhead, catching the tips of Kyungsoo’s eyelashes. It makes Jongin think of all those nights in his bed, looking over to see the way the moonlight shines on Kyungsoo’s face through the window. “Hyung…”

Kyungsoo shifts again in Jongin’s lap and Jongin shudders, biting the inside of his cheek. “Jongin, I…” he sighs. “I really need to know if… these past few weeks have been…” he’s staring down at his hands, resting on Jongin’s stomach. “I’d just like to know if you—"

“Kyungsoo,” Jongin says, slowly, carefully. Reluctant.

Kyungsoo does it again, chews at his lips with that nervous energy. But his eyes explode with a knowing look, with bright colours that Jongin is afraid of. “What, Jongin?” Kyungsoo’s words are pointed. Their faces are too close, and Jongin can feel the brush of Kyungsoo’s breath across his own skin.

“Closer.” Jongin does nothing but whisper.

When Kyungsoo leans forward to press their foreheads together, it’s Jongin who parts his lips first, mouth moving in to mold Kyungsoo’s to his own. Kyungsoo makes a noise, somewhere in the back of his throat, but Jongin swallows it down with a fervor.

And Jongin has heard Kyungsoo sing but nothing even compares to the sound of Kyungsoo’s breathing, shaky but insistent, mixed with Jongin’s and deep, messy groans.

Jongin feels heady, in a trance from the song created by Kyungsoo’s little whines and noises that’s just as intoxicating as the mix of music in Hongdae; the way they fit together—their bodies, their mouths—working in sync, fitting right together perfectly even though—

Jongin pulls away, gasps for air. Kyungsoo’s pupils are blown, all sorts of colours blooming across his face—red in the cheeks, full pink lips a little swollen. Jongin catches his reflection in the mirror and he looks like that too. Flushed. And colourful; eyes frantic and he wants…

More. He looks back at Kyungsoo, hands rested on the leather of Jongin’s pants. And Jongin wants more.

He kisses Kyungsoo again because they just fit together and Jongin has never fit in anywhere—not him, an incongruent puzzle piece that never completed the puzzle his parents wanted him to; not him, who had a perfect girlfriend that he had to let go of because every time he saw her it was like the jigsaw puzzle he could never solve because he was just never the _right piece_ no matter how hard he tried.

He wanted to love Sooyoung so much.

But now there’s Kyungsoo and Jongin can’t stop. He can’t stop feeling that fire in his insides, blazing bright but not burning anymore. He can’t stop seeing, _feeling_ , bursts of colour when Kyungsoo starts rolling his hips against Jongin’s thighs.

Jongin has found colour, in the way Kyungsoo is touching the hair at the nape of Jongin’s neck and in the way he smiles into the kiss when Jongin pulls him closer. Jongin sees colour and there is so much more to it than the monochrome he’s locked himself into before.

“The makeup artist is probably on her way in here,” Jongin says, when Kyungsoo parts for air. His arms are wrapped around Jongin’s neck. He smiles, a little wan and wistful. And knowing. Jongin is grateful, but his stomach pangs with a silent apology.

“I’m quite comfortable in your lap,” Kyungsoo sighs, and nuzzles into the crook of Jongin’s neck. Jongin has an odd feeling like he’s just tamed a lion cub.

“Well, I’m quite comfortable to _have_ you in my lap.”

Kyungsoo pulls him in tighter. It’s comforting. His eyelashes brush the skin of Jongin’s neck. He sits up, eyes alight. “I’m glad to hear that because I kept thinking you were…” he thumbs Jongin’s cheek, gently. A feather-light touch, like he’s afraid to try more again. Jongin is so, so afraid. “I mean, I was never sure. You and Soojung always seemed… close.”

Jongin kisses the corner of Kyungsoo’s mouth, more towards the jawline than anything. “Really? Am I that hard to read?”

“I wasn’t sure. If it was just a passing feeling for you,” Kyungsoo explains. “Like, if I was just there and you were just bored or curious or too nice to say anything.”

Jongin shakes his head, playing the drawstrings on Kyungsoo’s hoodie. “None of the above. I was addicted to you way before you told me.” He feels a million times lighter, getting to say that aloud. “Way before that first night you slept over.”

“Or I thought maybe you were…” Kyungsoo wrings his hands.

“Hmm?”

“Just horny.”

Jongin can’t hold back his laugh even though that does make something ripple deep in his gut. “Actually,” he swipes a thumb along Kyungsoo’s lower lip, “maybe a little bit that.”

“That’s good to know,” Kyungsoo mumbles.

“Why is that?”

Kyungsoo leans his head onto Jongin’s shoulder, places a light kiss on the side of his neck. “Because that morning you got the coffee machine,” he replies, voice a notch quieter. “You were standing in your kitchen, unclothed and very pretty and very, very sweet. I had to… take care of myself in the shower after.”

There’s a knock on the door. It floats through the heavy air in the dressing room. Jongin feels paralyzed, even as Kyungsoo lifts his head, staring at him with a plain smile and so much faux-innocence.

Jongin is sure someone’s poured molten lava all over him.

“Kai-ssi! This is Im Nana, the makeup artist. May I come in?” says the voice behind the door. It does little to cut through the thoughts in Jongin’s head, the image of Kyungsoo in his shower, trying to stay quiet as he—

Kyungsoo hops off of Jongin’s lap, and the room is dull as he returns to his senses.

“Uh, one moment! I’m just… dressing,” Jongin hollers back. There’s a look tucked away at the edges of Kyungsoo’s eyes, even as he settles on the couch on the opposite end of the dressing room.

⊰ ⊱

When February comes, he gets a phone call from his mother.

“I’ve finalized your meeting with Kang Seulgi,” she says. Jongin has to press the phone closer to his ear to hear her. He’s walking back to the company building and the wind is cold and loud.

“I—mother, I’m not—“

“You’re not _what_ , Jongin?” In the distance, Jongin can hear his father’s music; Tchaikovsky floating softly behind his mother’s cool tone. Jongin wonders why his father still plays those songs. He didn’t know that he still did. It’s strange. His father probably played that music all those years ago so that Jongin would grow up classy and cultured and have an appreciation for it. He probably never imagined Jongin would fall in love with it, that it would be the huge breeze that would blow Jongin off the course of life his parents wanted for him.

“You’re not _what_?” his mother prompts again. There’s a bite to her words. It chills Jongin’s skin more than the wind.

Jongin is not a lot of things. The way his parents still cling onto some last strand of hope that Jongin will marry into a good family is a constant reminder of exactly what Jongin is _not_. They hold onto these marriage meetings like it’s a life raft. Jongin doesn’t know how to tell them they’re only going to sink even farther than they already have into that deep ocean of disappointment.

“You’re not going? Is that it?” She sighs. “Please, Jongin. Let’s not fuss about this. This is the least you can do for us, at this point.”

Static noise fills the space between them, like being lost in the middle of the ocean alone—it would feel like silence around you, but only because you’ve become accustomed to the crashing of the waves and the birds circling above.

And in this case, Jongin is accustomed to his mother’s disappointment. It settles on his shoulders, a heavy cloak.

“Sure.” Jongin has no energy for this. He puts it off because that’s what he always does, and even though he’s come to realize that is a horrible thing to do, old habits die hard.

⊰ ⊱

“Can I ask you why you punched this guy?” Kyungsoo says, cross-legged on Jongin’s bean bag chair in the living room. Jongin has never seen anyone sit cross-legged on a bean bag chair before. It’s like Kyungsoo is determined to look prim and proper even in Jongin’s messy apartment.

After a chopstick full of Cantonese chow mein, Jongin looks up from his food. Kyungsoo is staring intently at his phone. “Who?” Jongin runs his tongue along the back of his teeth. His breath is really bad right now. Which is something he’s suddenly very aware of in Kyungsoo’s presence.

“You punched a guy at a bar back in October,” Kyungsoo clarifies, mildly. He doesn’t look like he’s reprimanding Jongin. “Apparently you used to do it pretty often… bar fights and such.”

Jongin hums, stuffs more Chinese takeout into his mouth.

“But you haven’t really gotten into trouble like this while _I’ve_ been managing you.” Kyungsoo’s tone is considering. He pops a piece of fortune cookie into his mouth, stretching his legs out. “I’m starting to think I was given your body double or something.”

It’s a joke so Jongin laughs. He chases his food down with water. “Maybe I _am_ the body double, hyung. I’ve buried Kai’s body in a ditch.”

“You’re not smart enough for that.” Their feet touch under the table as Kyungsoo says it, and Kyungsoo wriggles his toes against Jongin’s.

“Well, you’ll never know, now will you?” Jongin brushes Kyungsoo’s ankles with his foot before he smiles softly and lets go.

Kyungsoo doesn’t try anything more. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he says, a look gentler than Yixing’s crossing his face. Jongin’s heart prickles a little in his chest.

“I used to do it for the distraction, I guess,” Jongin replies and Kyungsoo tilts his head, listening. “Bar fights were the best kind of distraction because I’d never remember them later, anyways.”

Kyungsoo crawls out of the bean bag chair, joins Jongin on the floor. “I get it. Thank you for telling me.”

“No, there’s more,” murmurs Jongin. The food between them on the table looks bland and unappetizing now.

“You don’t have to tell me, Jongin.”

“I want to.”

Kyungsoo starts chewing at his lips. It makes Jongin’s eyes wander. The taste of Kyungsoo’s mouth still lingers in his own.

“I remember that bar fight. The last one, in October. The guy was an old high school classmate,” Jongin says. He holds his chopsticks, one in each hand, like drumsticks. It’s easier to look at them than Kyungsoo’s pretty, sympathetic face. “He—uh. He asked me if I still kept in contact with a _sunbae_ of ours; a _sunbae_ I was… close to.”

Kyungsoo nods once, and nothing more.

“His name was Taemin and everyone knew we were friends but no one…” Jongin cards his fingers through his hair. He’s shaking. It’s weird to say things aloud. Words make memories manifest, make them real. “God, no one ever knew. No one was ever supposed to know. Not even _I_ liked thinking about it… But then, there was this one time in the locker room—me and Taemin, we heard someone walk in.”

Kyungsoo’s phone beeps loudly with a message. He doesn’t even look at it. By habit, Jongin sits on his hands, cold and shaky. “We managed to get our pants back up in time but the look on that guy’s face was so… knowing. He looked at us… and he just walked out without a word.”

“And he never spread a rumour or anything?”

“Not that I know of. I think he felt like no one would believe him. Taemin was our _sunbae_ and we were both very popular in school.”

Kyungsoo smiles, small. It lights up Jongin’s living room anyways. “Always modest, Kai.”

“You know me, hyung,” replies Jongin, smiling back gratefully. He sighs, shuddering a little. “So guess who I run into at that bar?” continues Jongin on a cold laugh. “He saw me and he was super drunk but… he said things, anyways.”

_Hey, you still keep in contact with Lee Taemin?_

_Do all your fan girls know you--?_

“Jongin.” Kyungsoo stands, walks around the table. He pulls Jongin’s hands out, from underneath Jongin’s butt, and cups them between his small palms. “That’s all right now. Go wash up.”

“How did you do it, hyung? How did you just date?”

“I didn’t. It was a secret.”

“For _three_ years?”

“Yes.”

Jongin’s skin looks dark against Kyungsoo’s. With his index finger, Jongin traces the peaks and valleys of Kyungsoo’s knuckles. “Why would you stick around?”

Eyes on their locked hands, Kyungsoo blinks, eyelashes fluttering, and Jongin thinks about the way they felt brushing his neck. He pushes the hair back on Kyungsoo’s forehead, and Kyungsoo looks up—surprised, but then his eyes soften. He leans his head into Jongin’s chest.

“Why does anyone stick around?” replies Kyungsoo.

When the table is cleared, they get ready for bed quietly. Kyungsoo retreats into the bathroom while Jongin pulls back the bed covers, making sure that Kyungsoo gets the fluffy pillow. Kyungsoo comes back out in his boxer shorts, folding his pants and shirt on Jongin’s dresser again.

Jongin throws Kyungsoo one of his old sweaters, like usual. He looks immaculate, Jongin thinks, shining bright in the dark room. He crawls onto the mattress, beside Jongin. Under the covers, their bare legs lace together wordlessly.

“I was going to be an idol,” Kyungsoo says. The curtains on Jongin’s window are drawn, so not even the moonlight peeks into the room tonight.

“ _You_ were a trainee? Where?” It’s not that it’s surprising. A voice like Kyungsoo’s belongs behind a microphone, deserves to play out every speaker. But being an idol isn’t really about the music. They both know that.

“No, I… never ended up auditioning.” Kyungsoo shifts. Jongin can feel his small toes curling and uncurling against Jongin’s ankle. “Me and him—we were both going to be singers. That was the plan. I left everything and everyone back home without a second thought. But the moment we arrived at the audition…”

Kyungsoo’s arm finds Jongin’s waist, drapes across the bare skin there. Jongin doesn’t know if his shirt had ridden up or if Kyungsoo had just slipped his fingers underneath. Either way, Jongin doesn’t pull out of his touch.

“It became real for him—becoming a trainee, the idol life, all of it. And he realized… we _both_ realized that being together wouldn’t be _hard_ ,” explains Kyungsoo, “it would be _impossible_. So then he just broke up with me? Or, something like that. He didn’t actually say it but… it was obvious enough in the way he just sort of… looked back at me like I was—“

“Let’s sleep, hyung.”

Kyungsoo’s always been small, but Jongin doesn’t think he’s ever seen Kyungsoo look smaller than he does now. All the tenacity of the lion cub is gone. He’s got the timidness and the worry of a stray kitten here; Jongin can tell, in the way Kyungsoo seems almost scared to get too close to Jongin’s warmth—afraid to find comfort in it.

Almost an hour passes in the sound of their even breathing. Jongin’s shirt gets a little damp in the spot where Kyungsoo’s head is nestled, but if Jongin hears Kyungsoo’s tiny sniffles, he pretends he doesn’t, and just pulls him in a little more.

“I’m not crying, if that’s what you think,” Kyungsoo whispers later, voice thick. Jongin chuckles anyways, hums into the top of Kyungsoo’s head, the hair tickling Jongin’s lips. “Of course not, hyung. Let’s just forget the past. You’re here now.”

“But I think…” says Kyungsoo, “You can’t move forward without first looking back.”

Jongin swallows, but whatever’s in his throat stays lodged in there. “You think so?”

The warmth under the blankets had been comfortable, but now it’s just a little too hot. Jongin, born in the winter and used to the cold, has always found heat a little unbearable. He’s still trying to adjust. “You don’t invite all your managers into your bed, do you, Kai?” Kyungsoo murmurs. He curls into Jongin after he says it so Jongin will know it’s a joke, though neither of them laugh. The true question behind Kyungsoo’s words has been ignored long enough. Still, Jongin stutters—like the beat of his heart, like the footwork in a _pas de deux_ that Jongin spent hours trying to master at old ballet lessons.

“I—Me and Junmyeon-hyung weren’t like that,” Jongin says quietly.

Kyungsoo pulls back a little, in surprise. “Oh. I’m sorry, it just seemed... from the way you—“

“We weren’t together, but I did love him.”

They breathe in tandem; Jongin, on a shaky inhale, Kyungsoo, on an exhale like the air’s just cleared up. Kyungsoo slips his hand out from under Jongin’s shirt, but doesn’t move out of his touch. It’s comforting, that Kyungsoo knows how to read Jongin.

“It was strange. Because I knew he was straight. He never told me or anything. I kept hoping he wasn’t,” Jongin says. He can see Kyungsoo worrying at his lower lip again, in his nervous habit. Even in the dark, because their faces are so close, Jongin can see the pink skin of Kyungsoo’s lips, the way they’re soft and raw from constant chewing. Jongin bites his tongue and closes his eyes. “He knew I liked him, and he knew that I knew he would never like me like that in the same way… and yet, whenever I touched him, whenever I kissed him when I was drunk… he just… let me. This was before he started dating his fiancée, of course. But still, I’d kiss him. Then I’d say sorry. He’d say ‘it’s alright, Jongin.’”

“Joonmyeon is a nice guy,” Kyungsoo offers.

“Yeah,” Jongin says. “He is. When he told me he was getting married, _he_ was the one who almost cried.” Jongin had been angry at that, in the moment. He kept waiting and waiting over the years for Joonmyeon to push him away, to get put off by Jongin’s behaviour. He never did, though. “He felt so bad.”

Joonmyeon was nice. He’s nice like Yixing. Nice like Taemin. All these _nice_ guys that made Jongin burn passionately in a way Sooyoung didn’t. And he tried to tell himself, it was just Sooyoung as a person. But that was impossible because Sooyoung was perfect.

And Jongin tried other women after that because it was easier to ignore the truth than to face it. He even liked getting into fights because he wanted to stop finding men _nice_. He wanted to punch a guy and get punched back because that’s how it was supposed to feel, that’s how he was supposed to be. He isn’t supposed to keep finding them _nice_.

“I’ll pretend you’re not crying either, Jongin-ah.” Kyungsoo presses his lips, quick and gentle on each of Jongin’s closed eyelids. Jongin exhales. “I’m not crying, hyung,” he says. He isn’t.

“Of course. See you in the morning,” Kyungsoo says.

Jongin hadn’t been scared when he met Kyungsoo—Kyungsoo, who dressed in all black and had been about as frigid as an ice cube. Kyungsoo wasn’t supposed to have all this hidden colour in his lips and in his cheeks and in his eyes. He wasn’t supposed to kiss Jongin and Kyungsoo just wasn’t supposed to be _nice_.

“’Night, hyung,” Jongin says back and kisses Kyungsoo in the dark anyways because even though Kyungsoo isn’t nice in the way Yixing makes sure Jongin’s coat is zipped, or in the way Junmyeon made sure Jongin always had coffee in the morning, Kyungsoo is nice in the way that Jongin realizes he fits right into the curve of Kyungsoo’s embrace.

⊰ ⊱

In the morning, it smells like food. Jongin sits up in bed, eyes half open, mouth tasting like sleep. Outside, there’s more sunlight than Jongin is used to waking up to. Usually, his activities require him to be up before the sun rises. Today, instead, there are the wrinkles of sleep on the other side of Jongin’s bed. It smells like Kyungsoo’s cologne when he inhales.

“Hey.” Kyungsoo walks in, hair a little damp, denim hung low on his waist. He’s wearing one of Jongin’s shirts, a soft blue colour. It’s baggy on him but Jongin likes the way the neck scoops down so he can see Kyungsoo’s collarbones. Water from his hair drips onto the pale skin.

“Hey, yourself.” Jongin sighs, swinging his feet off the bed. He tugs off his sleeping shirt. “I swear I had a performance to get to this morning. You know it’s already past 10?” He looks at Kyungsoo, eyes gleaming. “Did you wake up and finally make a mistake in your little schedule?”

“Yeah, you wish,” Kyungsoo makes a face; a little scrunch of his nose. It’s cute. “Your performance got cancelled. The company decided they wanted that duo, LUdaKRIS, to take your slot instead. They’ve done well in China but I hear the company wants to focus their activities in Korea this year.”

Jongin hums. “Really? That’s great news. I feel like I haven’t talked to them in _years_.”

“You’re friends?” Kyungsoo walks the length of the room, joining Jongin on the other side. Slumping, Kyungsoo leans against the footboard of the bed.

“Well, they debuted a few years before me but yeah, we used to be close. It’ll be nice to catch up.” Jongin grabs a sweater at random from his closet. It’s also nice not to be rushing and tired once in a while.

“Hey, Kai.” Kyungsoo kicks himself off the footboard, pins Jongin with a pointed stare then pins him even harder against the full-length mirror on the wall. “You’re not replacing me with prettier boys, right?” He smiles a moment later, amused, and Jongin laughs.

“I didn’t think you even _knew_ how to be jealous,” jokes Jongin, and bends his head down to meet Kyungsoo’s kiss. Kyungsoo smells like Jongin’s shampoo again. Their tongues meet briefly when Kyungsoo bites at Jongin’s lower lip. It takes a real effort not to make a noise when Kyungsoo’s hands start to roam, when they skate across the taut skin of Jongin’s stomach.

“Your abs look better in your music videos,” Kyungsoo says and Jongin kisses the smile off Kyungsoo’s face.

“But you think LUdaKRIS is prettier than me?” Jongin presses his lips to the spot between Kyungsoo’s eyebrows, then stops; mostly because there’s a pool of heat stirring low between his legs, and the fabric of his boxer shorts would be unforgiving.

Kyungsoo moves, pushing himself a little more against Jongin’s body. Their dicks definitely brush. Jongin definitely tries not to moan.

“Kris is kind of tall and scary. Lu Han, however, has a face to turn the straightest man gay,” replies Kyungsoo. Jongin guffaws, and makes a note of the remark. That one is going to amuse Kris endlessly and make Lu Han grumble.

Kyungsoo isn’t wrong, though. Jongin had had an ~embarrassingly~ huge crush on Lu Han; this delicate, demure Chinese boy who had a sort of quiet charm at first. After Jongin had debuted, and they started becoming friends, Jongin thought he was going to be totally whipped.

But then he got to know Lu Han, and Jongin learned that the guy could literally not be straighter. The angelic, almost feminine lines of his face had been a total trick. He used to comment periodically on Soshi’s legs during rehearsals and also had this running bet with Kris that he would eventually woo their _sunbae,_ Zhang Liyin, who is super hot and out of everyone’s league, into a date.

“Trust me. I’m not going anywhere.” Jongin pats Kyungsoo’s head and Kyungsoo tries to swat his hand away, irritated, so everything feels normal again and Jongin is in a great mood.

Kyungsoo turns on his heel and Jongin is about to follow. But then, Kyungsoo stops at the doorframe. He wipes his hands discreetly on his denim pants, but Jongin still notices.

“Do you mean that?” asks Kyungsoo and the floor tilts a little for a moment.

“What?”

With a start, Kyungsoo shakes his head, snapping out of a daze. Jongin’s insides slosh around a bit.

“I made breakfast. Let’s eat,” Kyungsoo says, turning his head with a smile. “And then I’ll drive you to the company.”

Jongin nods, numbly, and realizes what Kyungsoo’s question means.

“Okay,” Jongin replies instead.

⊰ ⊱

Well into February, Kai wins his first award for his latest single. To celebrate, Soojung insists on a nice lunch out with Lu Han and Kris, who are officially back from China promotions.

Their managers aren’t very happy about the arrangement—four high-profile celebrities in one place didn’t sound like a challenge they were willing to tackle. Soojung’s manager mumbles a poor excuse about paperwork back at the company to escape playing babysitter, which no one blames him for. Jongin rolls his eyes and whines that it’ll be fine until finally, Kyungsoo flicks his forehead and tells him they can go as long as he shuts up.

They call the sushi restaurant beforehand to get a private room in the back. Kris pats the seat between him and Lu Han, gesturing for Jongin to come over. Instinctively, Jongin’s eyes cut to Kyungsoo as if in askance. Jongin doesn’t know why. Maybe because he’s gotten used to Kyungsoo’s hand on his knee while they eat breakfast or Kyungsoo leaning over the table to feed Jongin extra pieces of _kimchi._

Kyungsoo doesn’t meet Jongin’s stare, chatting away instead with Kim Jongdae, LUdaKRIS’ manager. Shaking his head, Jongin sits down between his old friends and Kris throws an arm around Jongin’s shoulder as Lu Han pushes his knuckles into his hair for a noogie.

“No alcohol if you’re already acting like that when you’re sober,” Soojung scolds absently, perusing the menu.

“ _None_ of you get alcohol. It’s 1pm on a Saturday and the area is crawling with cameras,” Jongdae adds.

As they wait for their food, Lu Han answers all of Jongin’s questions about their time in China and Jongin, in turn, tells him about all the company rehearsals with Soshi that Lu Han had missed. Soojung and Jongdae strike an easy debate about something related to American politics, and at some point, Jongin hears Kyungsoo and Kris conversing in English. He has no idea what they’re talking about but Kyungsoo is laughing really hard.

“Why are you frowning? Is my crush on Liyin-noona finally getting on your nerves?” Lu Han teases. Jongin’s shoulders fall with an exhale and he forces his face to lose all the hard lines.

“Of course not. That would have happened a long time ago probably,” says Jongin. Without meaning to, he flicks his gaze back to Kyungsoo and, timely as always, Kyungsoo smiles at Jongin as if it’s a reassurance—of what, Jongin doesn’t know but it’s the kind of smile he gives when Jongin wakes up in the morning or when he kisses Jongin on the nose. So Jongin breathes easy again and tunes back into Lu Han’s conversation.

Lu Han is sharing the story of his encounter with Zhang Ziyi—his favourite actress—when the food arrives.

“I think she thought he was weird,” Kris shares, and Lu Han stabs his hand playfully with a chopstick.

“Excuse you, but how would _you_ know? As I recall, I was the only one with the balls to actually say something,” counters Lu Han. The table laughs, even Jongdae and Soojung who were very caught up in their own conversation.

“She probably thought what everyone thinks,” Jongin says. “‘Well, what a _cute_ young man.’”

Kris chokes on his water and gives Jongin a low-five. Lu Han glowers, tilting his head up in that way he doesn’t know makes the light catch his cheekbones so that he actually looks even prettier. Jongin is careful not use the word ‘pretty’, though. Lu Han doesn’t like it.

“One of these days, Jongin, I will get a hotter girlfriend than you and we’ll see who’s laughing.” Lu Han pinches Jongin’s cheek and all of Jongin’s sarcastic comments clump up in his throat. He coughs and wonders if the rest of the table feels the thick cloud of air around him.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Lu Han,” Kris says. He has big hands that dwarf his chopsticks. Jongin wonders how he uses them properly. “I think you’d be looking for someone prettier than Soojung and that’s not easy.”

Neck crawling with heat, Jongin dares a look at Kyungsoo, not really knowing what to expect. But whatever he thought he would see—discomfort, or even anger—is definitely not there. Kyungsoo is smiling, as mild-mannered as ever. It’s his eyes, though, that are detached; somewhere much farther away. The low lighting of the private room dulls the beautiful curves of his face. Jongin’s never wanted to kiss him more.

But then, the thought of kissing Kyungsoo in front of all of his friends makes his palms sweaty and his skin tingle.

Soojung, more than Kyungsoo, is the one that shifts uncomfortably. Even Jongdae’s smile falters. Jongin files that away for future reference.

“Come on, oppa. It’s not like that,” Soojung says to Kris. Her eyelashes flutter when she blinks, and she meets Jongin’s eyes across the table. There’s something strange in them—not unfamiliar, just a sad downturn to the edges. Jongin feels like he’s seen that look so many times, but he only pushes out a quiet smile at her and punches Kris in the shoulder half-heartedly.

“Eat your sushi, Yifan,” says Jongin and Kris pretends to pout at the sound of his real name, but it lifts the tension no one knew was there.

“Now that you mention it, doesn’t our little Jongin look like he’s in a great mood?” says Lu Han. Jongin frowns at him.

“What do you mean? I’m in a terrible mood because I have to sit through a whole lunch with _you_ two. My worst nightmares,” Jongin retorts, cheekily.

“I haven’t seen Kai getting into any trouble lately, though,” Kris muses and tries to eat a piece of sushi in one bite that is way too big for his small mouth.

Soojung’s face scrunches up like she feels bad for the sushi. She hands Kris her water. “Kai’s been on his best behaviour since Kyungsoo-oppa took over as his manager,” she supplies. The duo looks at Kyungsoo curiously, like they can’t quite imagine that so much control can come out of someone so tiny.

“Thanks for taming him. Joonmyeon could never do it,” Lu Han says solemnly. “What’s your secret?”

Kyungsoo smiles at him, heart-shaped and amused. “Oh, he just needs treats for good behaviour.” They all laugh raucously, and Lu Han pats Kyungsoo’s shoulder like he approves of him. Jongin, instead, blushes under Kyungsoo’s gaze because ‘treats’ definitely doesn’t mean what everyone thinks it means. Kyungsoo licks his lips after a bite of sushi and Jongin has to gulp down a lot of his water until his mouth feels normal again.

Dessert comes and Kris shares more funny anecdotes. Jongdae joins in too, with embarrassing stories of his own, and Jongin watches Jongdae’s eyes land quite often on Soojung. Jongin notices the way Soojung curls in under Jongdae’s stare, as if unsure it’s even there and afraid to entertain the idea that it is. Jongin notices it because he does it himself sometimes.

Later, Jongin’s phone beeps with a message and he fumbles for it quickly before he sees Kyungsoo’s name flashed across the screen. Jongin looks past Lu Han, and Kyungsoo raises his eyebrows at him to say _read it._

 _Are you seeing Jongdae’s face right now?_ it says, and Jongin bites down his smile. He rolls his eyes at Kyungsoo who shrugs.

“Who’s the girlfriend, Jongin?” Lu Han elbows Jongin in the arm.

“I—no one.”

Kris licks some cake off his fork. “Oh, God. That was the worst lie I’ve ever heard,” he says. “And we’re celebrities who lie for a living.” He has really severe eyebrows that make him seem a lot scarier than he actually is. In reality, Kris is probably a closet romantic. “At least _try_ to sound convincing. Because you really suck at pretending you’re not seeing someone.”

“ _Are_ you seeing someone?” asks Soojung from across the table. She plays with the desert on her plate. “You have been in a great mood recently.”

“Plus, not a single scandal in months. I’m inclined to think you’re a changed man,” Lu Han pipes in. Kyungsoo stares at his hands in his lap and Jongin thinks about kissing him. He thinks about the smooth skin of Kyungsoo’s torso and the dips of his collarbones.

And Jongin feels himself burning like a man over a stake.

“I’m not seeing anyone,” he says, reassuringly, and even in his own ears, it sounds so convincing and suddenly, he’s not even sure that’s a good thing. With a cough, he pockets his phone and shrugs. “That was Yixing that texted me. Remember him?”

“Ah, of course. The other Chinese trainee that lived with us. He was a cool guy,” Kris says, and the topic shifts. Jongin’s skin cools down a degree.

Kyungsoo looks the same when Jongin stares at him again, but this time, he doesn’t meet Jongin’s eyes. Instead, he blinks. Once. Twice. And finishes his desert. He smiles at the right times and laughs when Jongdae tells more jokes but it’s never the kind of smile that Jongin wakes up to in the morning or that he kisses in bed.

Jongin excuses himself to the restroom later so he can splash cold water on his face. He wants, maybe even expects, Kyungsoo to follow him. He almost wants to text Kyungsoo to come so Jongin can just touch him where they can be alone.

Alone.

Jongin sighs, leaning his head back onto the cool, tiled walls.


	4. Finale

After midnight on Valentine’s Day, they go to JEKYLL. Yixing’s shift hasn’t started by the time they arrive but they stay anyways, taking the same seat at the edge of the bar. Tonight, it’s just Chanyeol performing without Baekhyun. As a funny introduction, Chanyeol cites the reason as Baekhyun ditching him for a girlfriend. Chanyeol performs well regardless, but Jongin still hears Baekhyun’s box drum in his head when Chanyeol starts singing and Jongin thinks the set would sound more complete as two.

A different bartender serves Jongin and Kyungsoo. Jongin recognizes him as the college freshman that Yixing has sort of adopted, a lanky guy with a baby face named Oh Sehun. He makes drinks slowly, careful movements, checking amounts with a measuring cup and everything.

“Since it’s, you know, a special night, I’ve prepared something a little slower. Hope it’s okay if I finish my set off with this.” Chanyeol’s got a really low voice, like liquid silk flowing out of the speakers and hugging the ears. Jongin is sure Chanyeol smiles a little in his direction before he strums out the first note, and it’s just as Jongin suspects—a Kai song.

It’s kind of an old one; a pop ballad that Jongin almost co-wrote for his first full-length album. Almost. He had had lyrics written down on a crumpled napkin, but when Kim Minseok—his music producer—asked him if there was anything he wanted to offer before the album was finalized, Jongin ended up stuffing the napkin into his pocket because all of a sudden, it was such a dumb idea—thinking that he could put out his own thoughts and feelings into a song for millions to hear.

The song ended up becoming just a random one off the record. It wasn’t a single and he didn’t promote it or even singing it live for any performance. He was grateful really that no one paid attention to it so that it could just bury itself away into obscurity with every new dance track he promoted instead.

It _would_ be here, Jongin thinks with a sigh, that the stupid song would find a way to climb out of its box and into the spotlight.

Chanyeol sings it as a raw rearrangement; the way Jongin had imagined in his head himself when he had first written out his lyrics all those years ago—with a single acoustic guitar sang in a whisper-soft voice because whispers were what you used to share secrets.

Under the counter, a hand meets Jongin’s—small and short-fingered but somehow full of so much comfort. Jongin squeezes back.

“Do you know this song?” Kyungsoo says during the instrumental from the bridge to the final chorus. It’s not really a question. “Mhm,” Jongin replies and it’s a shitty reply that Kyungsoo doesn’t have to settle for, but he does anyways and Jongin wishes, really wishes, he could just lean over and…

It wouldn’t even be that hard—in the dark, at the very back where no one’s even looking—to just kiss him. And yet, even the hand that Jongin’s holding for strength makes him anxious, makes him wish that no one in the bar turns around or anything.

If Kyungsoo feels Jongin’s palm getting clammy, he doesn’t let go. Chanyeol finishes his set with a hearty applause and even though Jongin’s and Kyungsoo’s hands break to clap along, they find each other again wordlessly.

“Never thought I’d see the day that Kim Jongin celebrates Valentine’s.” Yixing slips in through a back door between the act change. He’s tying an apron behind his back, smiling. “Thanks for taking him out,” he says to Kyungsoo.

Yixing is definitely staring at their hands. He can’t actually see them probably from behind the counter, but Jongin knows where Yixing’s eyes are fixed and he knows how to read Yixing’s smiles. Kyungsoo leans into Jongin for a split second, bumping their shoulders, and Jongin’s heart jumps with the strangest twinge of affection and anxiety. “It was his idea, actually,” Kyungsoo says.

“Oh, really now?” Yixing grins at Jongin. It’s not amused or smug even though Jongin figures Yixing has every right to be. This is why they’ve been friends for this long. “Interesting. Can I serve you two anything?”

 _‘You two’_ is an uncomfortable set of words. Just the slightest change in a sentence, but to Jongin, it’s the biggest indication of just what he and Kyungsoo are now.

“It’s all right. Your little college freshman served us already,” answers Jongin. Yixing laughs, and the way his eyes settle into Jongin’s lightens whatever anchor had dropped into the pit of Jongin’s stomach. Any judgement Jongin had expected to find isn’t there.

“Sehun is a sweetheart, isn’t he?” Yixing says, winking, but it’s a wink meant for Jongin—a wordless reassurance, a silent ‘I’m happy for you.’

“He is,” Kyungsoo agrees and Jongin reacts before he can remind himself not to.

“What?” Jongin turns on him, eyebrows drawn. The lighting in the bar is dim, but it has a yellow undertone that casts a sort of warm glow on the patrons, on the tables, creating these soft, diffused shadows. Kyungsoo, blinking at him playfully, blushes a muted pink and Jongin thinks he looks beautiful in these colours.

“Who’s jealous now?” Kyungsoo says. He leans in then, and Jongin almost jumps out of his seat because for a moment, he thinks Kyungsoo is going to kiss him.

But maybe Kyungsoo knows better—knows that storm of thoughts in Jongin’s head—because he stops when they’re faces are still inches apart. Jongin’s heart sinks and relaxes at the same time. Kyungsoo’s eyes get distant when he blinks and backs away.

“I’m Kai, Asia’s prince, so I don’t even know what ‘jealous’ means,” Jongin says and a smile parts Kyungsoo’s lips again, which is nice but also makes Jongin stare at his mouth more.

When they stand to leave, Yixing waves them an amused goodbye. “Leaving early?” he says, as Jongin holds up Kyungsoo’s coat for him.

“Yeah. I have an early start tomorrow.” Jongin adjusts his black cap.

“Of course. _That’s_ why,” Yixing says, and it’s just a little bit over the line but Jongin ignores it. He and Kyungsoo walk out of the bar and onto the lighted streets. Valentine’s is in the air. Buskers play cute songs that set the mood, and Jongin realizes that Hongdae is a whole different kind of pleasant on Valentine’s Day.

Maybe it’s because of this that Kyungsoo clutches at Jongin’s hand as they begin walking the few blocks to the van. He probably does it absently, twining their fingers together. Kyungsoo’s hands are cold from the chill and he seeks Jongin’s warmth. For some reason, Kyungsoo always seems to find warmth in Jongin and Jongin really can’t understand why.

Glancing around, the streets are busy; the stuffy kind of busy that swelters but isn’t quite as welcoming as it usually is. Jongin gets that trapped, caged feeling when it’s like this.

He doesn’t drop Kyungsoo’s hand, but Jongin loosens his grip and it’s enough. It’s enough to make Kyungsoo pull away, putting a whole few inches between them for the rest of the walk. But Kyungsoo also doesn’t make a scene about it either, and Jongin doesn’t know why his conscience feels guilty when Kyungsoo takes his hand back and stuffs it into his pocket for a new source of warmth.

Kyungsoo drives him to his apartment in silence.

“Sleep well,” he says, and for the first time in a long time, he isn’t making a move to get out of the van. Jongin frowns.

“You’re… not coming up?” asks Jongin.

A tongue peeks out to wet chapped lips. Kyungsoo runs a hand through his hair. He is really, really beautiful the longer Jongin stares at him. In profile, his large eyes contrast the rest of his tiny body.

“Jongin. I just think you should know,” Kyungsoo begins, and the engine is turned off, not even the heater whirs. The car is a suffocating sort of silent. “You are not a bad person.”

Jongin can’t swallow. “Hyung. What are you saying?”

“You aren’t a bad person. Which also means, you are not the person you want everyone to think you are,” Kyungsoo continues. His eyes are fixed straight ahead, at the dark road in front of them. “And you should know, Jongin, that that’s not something… you can change.”

In the sky, there’s a high-pitched _whoosh_ and a crack. Someone is doing fireworks. Jongin watches the reflection of the lights through Kyungsoo’s eyes; a short explosion of colour, a small burst that is gone in an instant.

“Yixing told me there’s stuff you still… have to sort out. Yourself. I get that. I’m just telling you that ‘sorting stuff out’ doesn’t mean changing yourself.” He turns, facing Jongin. “Trust me. There’s nothing to change—it’s just about learning to be okay.”

Another round of fireworks goes off. It’s a big one, gorgeous colours across a dark sky. When they disappear, the sky looks naked.

Jongin doesn’t want a sky without fireworks. “Kyungsoo…” he says, shaky, breathy. Kyungsoo’s face in front of him goes blurry. But not from tears. Definitely not tears. Because Kai doesn’t cry. “I’ll get there—I’m getting there—just please don’t… leave.”

With a chaste kiss, Kyungsoo smiles. But it’s not really cold or warm. It’s lukewarm. It’s dull. It’s polite and just a safe distance away. “If we’re like this, it’ll never end well,” whispers Kyungsoo. “I won’t… leave you. I don’t want to. But if this goes on, you might… you might leave _me_.” He has his arm wrapped around Jongin’s neck. His grip tightens. “And if you leave after giving me too much of yourself, I’m not sure you’ll ever be okay.” He looks down. “I’m… not sure _I’ll_ be okay.”

“Hyung—“

“See, the thing is Jongin, I’m already in love with you.”

A _whoosh_ and a crack in the distance, but neither of them are looking. Right now, in the van, with the heater off, it’s dark and chilly.

“I thought I could get by without knowing too much about you, you know?” Kyungsoo runs a gentle thumb across Jongin’s cheek. “But I was so wrong. You melted all my ice because I never expected you to be so warm.”

Kyungsoo even looks beautiful through Jongin’s bleary, wet tears.

Jongin isn’t crying.

“Maybe I let my guard down with you,” Kyungsoo goes on. “Maybe I just have a weakness for hot guys who are also major dorks.” He laughs but Jongin can’t.

“The problem is, I know how it feels… when someone is…” Kyungsoo looks away, towards the sky. He’s probably waiting for the next burst of fireworks, something to buy him time. The fireworks never come, though. “… ashamed. And it’s not their fault, your fault, anyone’s fault. But shame is real, and it hurts, and I don’t want to see it destroy us.”

There’s a protest trying to claw its way out of Jongin’s throat but it’s just fucking stuck behind everything else that Jongin doesn’t know how to say. Instead, he cups Kyungsoo’s face with both hands.

“Hyung. I could never—“ Jongin’s hands fall. Born in the winter and used to the cold, Jongin doesn’t really feel the chill very often. Tonight, though, he’s freezing. “I really don’t deserve you, Do Kyungsoo,” he says softly. “I don’t deserve you. And here I am, still asking you not to hate me.”

“Jonginnie,” Kyungsoo smiles, eyes shining, and Jongin realizes that hate isn’t something he could ever imagine in Kyungsoo’s eyes. “I already told you. I’m so in love with you, it hurts.”

Neither of them move. Kyungsoo waits for Jongin to say something. Anything. But all of Jongin’s thoughts are a mess, ricocheting around in his brain, all the things he wants to say but doesn’t know how.

“I could never give away too much of myself to you, hyung,” he says eventually. It’s the only words he can find, and he prays that it’s enough. “It’s too late because you already have me. All of me.” He swallows, his throat dry as sandpaper.

⊰ ⊱

“Are you okay?” Jongin asks, in bed that night. _Are we okay?_ Kyungsoo clutches at him the way he always does, peaceful as ever.

“Yes,” Kyungsoo replies. “I stepped out of line earlier… saying all that.”

‘That’ could mean a lot of things. Kyungsoo had said a lot of things. Jongin wishes… he wonders what exactly Kyungsoo regrets saying.

Jongin pulls Kyungsoo’s head to his chest. “I’m sorry I’m like this,” Jongin says, and he sounds like a broken record but apologizing, he realizes, is all he is able to give to Kyungsoo because Jongin is a big fucking wreck and Kyungsoo is somehow still there—trying to put together all of Jongin’s pieces.

“I don’t want apologies,” Kyungsoo murmurs into Jongin’s shirt. “I’m not… going anywhere. I was being petty for a second.”

“Kyungsoo—“

“No. I’m here.”

“You weren’t being petty. You were being realistic. Like you always are,” Jongin kisses the top of his head. “You had every right to say that.”

“I know I can’t put our relationship on a schedule. I can’t plan our life like I always plan everything else,” Kyungsoo says. He leans in then, and all of a sudden, he’s rolled Jongin over, straddling his hips. Small hands ride all the way up Jongin’s shirt and Kyungsoo speaks right against Jongin’s mouth, lips moving, their tongues brushing. “I’ve already decided I’m sticking around, Jongin.” He kisses Jongin’s chin, down his neck, and collarbones, nipples, stomach. His thumbs hook into Jongin’s boxers. “I’m here, as long as you want me.”

The words spark something in Jongin's chest because he realizes, with a crushing certainty, he might want Kyungsoo forever.

_Why would you stick around?_

_Why does anyone stick around?_

⊰ ⊱

The first time they really have sex, it’s drizzling lightly in the middle of the night. Kyungsoo, to Jongin’s surprise, is shy as he strips down and Jongin pulls him to the edge of the bed.

“Don’t hide, hyung,” Jongin chuckles. “I want to see you.” He eyes Kyungsoo’s torso. It looks… so much more toned than it had been before. There are even muscles in Kyungsoo’s back that hadn’t been there before. Jongin was wondering if it was his imagination, but now, he realizes… “Hyung, have you been working out?”

Kyungsoo runs his hands through his hair, avoiding Jongin’s eyes. “It’s hard to, you know, date _you_ and not feel, um—” he searches for the words, and Jongin frowns, afraid to hear them. “Not feel… out of shape?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jongin frowns, placing his palms on the small of Kyungsoo’s back. He always loved the way Kyungsoo looked. It hurts to see him so… embarrassed. “You’re beautiful, Kyungsoo,” Jongin says, turning Kyungsoo’s chin so he can see how much he means it. “Squishy stomach or not.” His hands slide down, to the curve of Kyungsoo’s ass. “You know you’ll always look beautiful to me, no matter what, right?”

He pulls Kyungsoo on top of him, licks a stripe against his collarbones, and Kyungsoo shivers.

“Jongin—it’s… you don’t have to—"

“I’ll make you believe me, hyung.”

Kyungsoo is quiet when he comes, a single breathy note whined into the crook of Jongin’s neck and it’s another song Jongin has come to like—all of Kyungsoo’s little noises as the lead vocals and the _pitter-patter_ of the rain as the percussion, keeping the beat. Jongin feels steady when Kyungsoo holds him, when he kisses along his jaw, when he sucks marks just under the collarbone that blossom red, then purple.

In the floating space between consciousness and sleep, Jongin feels the press of lips behind his ear and Kyungsoo whispers ‘I love you’ again and Jongin doesn’t deserve to have Kyungsoo in his bed.

Jongin has never said ‘I love you’ to anyone. Not to Yixing. Not to Soojung. Not to his parents. He looks over at Kyungsoo’s serene face, half sleeping, half awake. Jongin kisses Kyungsoo’s nose, and his eyes flutter open, as gentle as butterfly wings.

“Go to sleep,” whispers Kyungsoo, but he kisses him back.

Jongin adjusts their blankets so that Kyungsoo is fully covered. “Sleep tight,” says Jongin, and it’s not ‘I love you’, which is probably what Kyungsoo has been wanting to hear all this time. But he still smiles, bright and beautiful, and Jongin’s heart breaks and melts at the same time.

“You too,” Kyungsoo says, and falls asleep.

Into the darkness, Jongin sighs, brushes the hair off Kyungsoo’s forehead. “One day, hyung, I’ll be brave like you,” he says.

More nights pass in their mess of tangled limbs and heaving chests and every time Kyungsoo kisses down his stomach, clutches at his thighs, Jongin won’t say it.

Because ‘I love you’ isn’t meant for after every nerve in his body has been set alight. It isn’t meant for after Kyungsoo has settled into his lap, and ridden him with a cry. It’s easy to love someone like that, Jongin thinks, when Kyungsoo’s tongue has had its way, moist pressure across salty skin. It’s easy to retreat behind those words, then, and think they’re real when your brain is hazy and your pupils, blown.

One morning, at the start of spring, Jongin says it after they’ve made breakfast.

It’s like any other morning. Kyungsoo is pouring them coffee, early sunlight filtering in through an open window. He has a fading hickey at the side of his neck, his dark eyelashes brush his cheek when he blinks and when he looks up, catches Jongin staring at him, he blushes a gentle pink.

“I love you.”

The heat in Jongin’s chest is warm, but it doesn’t burn. It’s a giddy bubbling, a contentedness. Kyungsoo’s soft smile drops slowly, and then comes back—bright, colourful as he wraps his arms tightly around Jongin’s neck.

It’s a realization that he always fits in Kyungsoo’s arms.

“Like in a ‘thanks-for-always-making-breakfast’ kind of way?” teases Kyungsoo, quiet. Jongin can’t see his face but the waver in his voice makes Jongin hold him tighter.

“No,” answers Jongin. “Like in a ‘I-want-to-hold-your-hand’ kind of way.”

Kyungsoo’s fingers are fidgety, drifting to the hem of Jongin’s shirt. Jongin freezes.

“Wait, hyung, I don’t—“

“What is it, Jongin?” Kyungsoo says, smiling innocently. “Did you want something?”

“Kyungsoo, this is…”

“Tell me,” prompts Kyungsoo. He’s in one of his moods, Jongin can tell, a sort of playfulness behind his doe eyes. Then he’s _singing_ —the first few lines of SNSD’s ‘Genie (Tell Me Your Wish)’ low and husky, and Jongin is going to _choke on air_.

Trying to focus on anything but the press of his back into the kitchen table as Kyungsoo pushes him against it, Jongin exhales deeply. Kyungsoo is fingering the seam of Jongin’s pants.

“Hyung I…” Jongin says, struggling for words. Articulating feelings is a lot harder than burying them, but he figures, if it means keeping Kyungsoo, it’ll be worth it in the long run. “I don’t want you to think I said that to try and… get into your pants, okay?”

“Jongin, you idiot,” Kyungsoo says. The sound of the zipper is loud. “I know that. And there are a lot of ways to say ‘I love you’.” His hands rest on Jongin’s hips, absently, like they’ve found a home there. “I know it when you make sure I buckle up or when you give me more of the blanket or when you watch over my shoulder when I cook so I don’t burn myself.”

“Oh.” Jongin feels breathless. “Okay.”

“So, if I’m unzipping your pants right now,” Kyungsoo continues, and Jongin’s heart _bursts_ when Kyungsoo speaks against his mouth, “it means _I_ want them off.”

Later, Jongin is late for the first read-through of his new drama and he stumbles into the room clumsily, which is a total blow to his image. Im Yoona giggles at him, but he really doesn’t care.

⊰ ⊱

Kang Seulgi is not at all the way Jongin had imagined she would be. She’s pleasant like warm sunshine, not too bright and not too hot. Mostly, she’s just not uptight like the women Jongin is used to meeting.

A completely embarrassing remark about a cheesy comic book series he’s been reading slips out by accident, and she laughs, genuinely, and says, excited, “No spoilers! I haven’t caught up yet.”

“Oh God. That was strictly confidential. No one can know I read _Flower Boy Book Shop_ ,” Jongin says.

Her glossed lips stretch around a cup of tea as she sips and smiles across the table at him. It’s the height of the lunch hour and the French restaurant in Gangnam is bustling. They’re seated on the patio. In the distance, he hears the clicks of phone cameras and piercing calls of _‘Kai!’_ and tries not to cringe because that would be rude.

They’ve both ordered matching bowls of soup. Seulgi hunches over to blow delicately at her spoon. “You don’t like the noise, do you?” she says. She has a long curtain of black hair that falls forward as she bends. Jongin reaches across the table to pull it back for her.

Her eyes blink up at him, surprised, but then she smiles softly and sips more tea. “This isn’t for the cameras, is it?” she says again, but it’s teasing. Jongin chuckles.

“No, it’s not. I’m sorry about the entourage. I don’t usually go out in the day,” he explains. He eats some of his own soup, but more out of politeness than anything. It’s not as good as the soup Kyungsoo makes him in the morning. “You’re right. I don’t like noise.”

“You have quite an interesting career choice, then, for someone quiet,” she comments. Jongin’s phone beeps loudly and she tilts her head to the side, as if giving him permission. He pushes out a smile and checks the message.

 _You have a photo shoot for High Cut in an hour,_ the first text reads.

A second one slides onto the screen. _Sorry for interrupting your ~date~_ followed by the bored-eyes emoji that is a complete representation of Kyungsoo’s face.

“I understand you’re always busy.” Seulgi’s voice brings Jongin back to Earth. “I hope I’m not keeping you from anything.”

“You’re not,” Jongin amends, hastily, and slips his phone back into his pocket.

“Was that important?” she asks, wiping her lipstick off with a napkin. Most girls Jongin had met would reapply.

“It was my—“ Jongin sees Kyungsoo in his mind, sprawled out shirtless on Jongin’s bed where Jongin had left him that morning. He sees Kyungsoo smiling down at his phone as he texts him and he sees the way Kyungsoo’s eyes had changed when he had pinned Jongin against the mirror that one time, pushing their mouths together.

The word ‘manager’ dribbles back down Jongin’s throat. Seulgi’s smile is a little smaller but she doesn’t look upset. “If it’s a girlfriend, don’t worry. My lips are sealed,” she says. It’s good-natured but Jongin knows how to sense disappointment in a person.

“It’s… ah, not a girlfriend,” Jongin murmurs. He takes a sip of tea gone cold.

Seulgi hums. There’s a lot she could ask, Jongin sees the questions in the tightness of her jaw, but suddenly, the lines of her face are smooth again and she goes back to her soup. “So, why the idol life?” she asks him, instead, returning to the original conversation and Jongin sighs, wondering if she’s dodging things too.

“I like music,” Jongin replies. It’s the truth, which is not something Jongin feels like he gets to say very often so right now, it feels good. A slow smile sort of pulls up Seulgi’s mouth, as if his response is both surprising and amusing.

Jongin laughs. “What?”

“No, no, nothing,” she insists. Her shoulders shake with a light chuckle. “It’s just… I wasn’t expecting…”

“I get that a lot,” Jongin cuts in. He traces circles around the rim of his tea cup.

Seulgi tosses her silky hair back. “What? Defying expectations?” she jokes.

“Something like that.”

“Is this uncomfortable?” Seulgi asks, and Jongin’s heart does that roller coaster drop again.

“I—I’m sorry?”

She sighs, fingering at her nails like she’s uneasy. “I apologize if I’m boring you,” she clarifies. “I’m actually a big fan. I don’t know if your parents mentioned that. I’m really awkward, aren’t I?” She laughs nervously, and whatever walls Jongin had put up in the moment fall back down. Seulgi can’t be older than twenty, he remembers, and her innocence is showing. It’s endearing and it reminds Jongin of Soojung at that age.

“I should be the one to apologize. I should have turned my phone off,” Jongin says. He’s not using his idol charm anymore, that certain tone of voice he goes into when he’s just trying to make it through a marriage meeting unscathed. For some reason, he has a feeling Seulgi would see right through it.

“Look, that’s really kind but um, I know that this whole thing is arranged so you don’t have to… I guess…” she brushes her bangs out of her face. “Pretend to like me?”

It’s a strange sort of understanding and sympathy in Seulgi’s eyes that sets Jongin on edge. “Is it really not a girlfriend?” she asks, nodding in the general direction of his pocket, where his phone is.

Jongin’s hands tremble around his spoon for a second. He steadies, and looks up at her. “It’s… not.”

Seulgi blinks, as if trying to weigh the truth in his words. In the end, she decides not to push and Jongin swallows.

“Listen,” he says. The mandatory hour for their date is almost up. “It’s really not a girlfriend…”

“But… it _is_ someone?” March has barely begun but the weather is already getting warmer. A breeze makes the hem of her white dress flutter a bit and she looks away to smooth it down.

Jongin clears his throat. “Yeah,” he says, surprising himself with how sure it comes out. “It is someone.”

She slings her purse over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow. Jongin thinks it’s accusatory—even judging—but then it melts away a moment later with a look that’s a cross between puzzled and amused.

“I don’t really understand,” she admits, and tentatively, she pats Jongin’s hand on the table. There’s a split second where her mouth parts and Jongin swears she says, “Are you—?”

And his insides curl in a bit again, but she never finishes her sentence. Instead she stands, waves a little and the sway of her hips, the flow of her dress reminds Jongin of Sooyoung. Something about the push and pull of Seulgi’s expression makes him think there are questions that are rolling around there, thinking they’ll never get answers.

Jongin’s phone beeps, then, and it’s another string of messages from Kyungsoo.

He thinks disappointing someone is one of the most crushing experiences in the world. He thinks Seulgi’s smile is soft like flower petals, and then he thinks of Sooyoung again.

“You and me, as friends,” Jongin says hesitantly, before she turns to leave. “Is it still a valid offer?”

There’s another push and pull at her expression, a flash of curiosity that fades away with a blink, disappears with the breeze. Her eyes light up a little, and she hands Jongin her phone. “That would be nice.”

He leaves the restaurant feeling light. Maybe, he thinks, it’s because the disappointment he had expected to find hadn’t been there. Jongin gazes up at the sun overhead, warm on his skin.

⊰ ⊱

“This is nice,” Soojung says blankly, face pinched and sullen. Jongin looks over at her and laughs. From the bar, Jongdae and Kyungsoo return to their tucked away circle booth with a round of drinks.

“Your face seems to disagree.” He scooches over, patting the space beside him for Kyungsoo to sit. He looks stupidly handsome tonight. Jongin can’t believe Kyungsoo had let him wrestle some hair gel into Kyungsoo’s bangs and it was the best decision he’d ever made. With his hair styled away from his forehead, Kyungsoo’s eyes look even bigger. Brighter. It’s hard for Jongin not to stare at him.

But he has to look away or else he’ll lean over and kiss his nose, like he’d done back at his apartment not an hour ago.

“Is this place too grimy for you, Your Highness?” Kris jokes, passing her a shot of tequila. “Loosen up. This is Jonginnie’s favourite hideaway.”

Soojung raises an eyebrow at Jongin. “You’ve been here before?”

“I come when I can,” Jongin says, nonchalantly. He grabs a shot for himself and slides one to Kyungsoo, whose attention has been stolen away by Lu Han. “No one recognizes us here.” It’s earlier in the night, a few hours before any clubs are even open. He looks around the bar and it seems like they’re the youngest people there at the moment.

“Hmm.” Soojung taps a finger against the shot glass, pauses, lifts it to her lips then throws her head back. She cringes as it goes down, but only slightly. Jongin chuckles, reaching out to pinch her cheek and tease her, but something tenses in her shoulders.

He drops his hand. “Everything okay?” he asks. “Are you… not feeling well?” He can usually tell when Soojung’s anxiety is acting up. It’s not often that it happens outside of work-related things. But the expression on her face right now seems different.

“I’m fine,” she replies, twisting a piece of loose hair behind her ear. “I just thought this is something I’d know about you.”

Jongin leans back against the wall, trying to find the right words and say them in the right order. The truth is, Soojung _is_ his best friend. He’s sure he knows everything about her, and that it’s probably not quite the same, vice versa. But that’s because he isn’t as brave about the secrets he keeps.

Regardless, he can’t help but feel bad. “Sorry, Soojung,” he sighs. “Really. I never meant to leave you out of of anything. It’s just… I usually come here alone.” He licks his lips. “But these days, I’m trying to, you know, spend more time with people.”

She half-smiles. “You’ve never brought friends here before?”

“Technically…” Jongin shifts in his seat. “Just Kyungsoo-hyung.”

“Well, that’s different,” she chuckles, and Jongin’s chest inflates like a balloon. “Managers don’t count.”

“I—” Jongin quickly glances at Kyungsoo, but he seems fully occupied with Lu Han, a placid smile stuck to his face. “Is it different?” he mumbles, staring at the table. His heart shouldn’t be shaking as much as it is. He wills it to stop beating so fast, to stop feeling so ridiculous, when suddenly, Kyungsoo’s hand clutches at Jongin’s knee under the table. Tiny squeeze. Jongin looks at him again, and he’s laughing at the punchline of Lu Han’s joke.

Soojung rolls the sleeves back on her blouse, up and over her thin wrists. “I suppose you and Kyungsoo-oppa are pretty close,” she shrugs. “I still wish…”

She gets distracted by a text on her phone, pausing to read it, and Jongin wonders if she’ll finish her thought. He kind of hopes she doesn’t.

Either way, they get interrupted when Yixing appears at their table, friendly dimple-smile and all. Jongin had told him earlier that he could join them, but Yixing had said it would be too unprofessional to sit down while he was on the clock. Also, he had looked way too happy to see Jongin out with actual friends.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Yixing says, giving Jongin a knowing look. “Jongin, do you know a Ms. Kang Seulgi?”

“Oh, yeah.” Jongin almost forgot he’d invited her. “Is she here?”

Yixing nods. “I’ll come get her. Just wanted to make sure.” He knows Kang Seulgi by name. Of course Jongin had mentioned her before to him during one of his complaints over the months about a boring marriage meeting. He can see the absolute confusion behind Yixing’s eyes, but tries to reassure him that it’s fine.

“Who’s Kang Seulgi?” asks Soojung.

“A family friend,” Jongin replies, which is technically true. “She’s nice. You’ll like her.”

Soojung’s face is as impassive as ever. “A friend,” she repeats.

Jongin laughs to try and lighten the moment. He doesn’t know why it feels so heavy in the first place. “I can have friends you don’t know, Soojungie.”

Soojung presses her hands to her cheeks. They look pink but in the dark, it was hard to tell for sure. “That’s not—” she purses her lips, then slides out of the booth, “I’ll be back. I need another drink.”

“Hold up, I’ll come with!” Lu Han leaps out of the booth, crawling over Kris. “I need soju!” He’s already had three shots and Jongin hasn’t even taken his first one yet. He drinks it now, while watching Seulgi approach their table. Kyungsoo’s hand still rests on Jongin’s knee, firm and warm. At the sight of Seulgi, Kyungsoo starts to pull it away, but Jongin catches it.

“Jongin—”

“You’re warm, hyung,” Jongin mutters, smiling softly. And it may be dark in the bar, but the shade of red Kyungsoo turns is definitely bright enough to see. _Don’t kiss him, don’t kiss him, don’t kiss—_

“Hi, Jongin,” Seulgi waves, and bows at the others. Everyone shuffles to make room, and Jongin starts going through the introductions even though Seulgi seems like she already knows Kris, Lu Han and Krystal.

“This is my manager, Do Kyungsoo,” Jongin continues, “And Kim Jongdae, Kris and Lu Han’s manager.”

“It’s nice to meet you all,” she says, a little breathlessly. “To be honest, I… I wasn’t sure if it was okay to come. I hope I’m not intruding.”

Jongdae laughs. “Not at all. It’s nice to see you a new face every once in a while. You get pretty tired of staring at the same people all day.”

Kyungsoo reaches across Jongin and slides Seulgi a full shot glass. “Do you like tequila, Seulgi-ssi? Lu Han and Krystal also went to get soju, if you prefer that,” he says.

“Tequila’s great, thank you,” Seulgi grins, shooting it back as gracefully as someone who does this more often than Jongin would have thought.

Lu Han leans forward on his elbows. He’s got that glimmer in his eyes that Jongin knows all too well. The same one that makes all the girl trainees blush when he passes them in the hallways. “So, how does someone as pretty as you end up friends with Jongin?” he asks. “Not that you aren’t pretty, Jonginnie.”

Jongin rolls his eyes. “Thanks, Lu Han-hyung.”

“Well,” Seulgi seems like she’s contemplating between the truth, lies, or something in between. Like Jongin, she ends up with the latter. “We met only recently, through a… family thing. I’ve grown up all over the place, travelling for my parents’ work, so I don’t have that many friends in Seoul. Jongin was nice enough to let me crash your hangout.”

“I see,” Lu Han grins. “Well, you’re welcome to crash any time.”

“No flirting, Lu Han,” Jongdae mutters flatly, while answering an e-mail on his phone.

“It’s not on purpose,” Lu Han raises his hands. “Promise.” He tilts his head, left then right. Jongin can see Lu Han’s eyes flitting between them, pupils going back and forth like a tennis ball. Jongin looks away, gaze landing on Soojung, and she’s staring at her phone, scrolling through unopened text messages.

Kris fills up the empty soju glasses on the tray, then hands them out to everyone. “You said you travelled for your parents’ work? What do they do?”

Seulgi accepts the soju with a little nod. “They own Hoori Media Company,” she replies.

“You’re _that_ Kang Seulgi?” Lu Han gapes, then makes a mischievous face at Jongin. “Figures Jonginnie would try and whisk you away.”

Jongin frowns, the weight of Kyungsoo’s hand suddenly much heavier. “Lu Han—”

“There was no whisking,” Seulgi smiles, good-naturedly. “It’s not like that at all.”

The look on everyone’s faces tells Jongin that no one believes her. “We did meet through a marriage meeting,” Jongin says carefully, and Seulgi looks at him out of the corner of her eye. “But we’re just friends now.”

Lu Han hums. “Really? What a shame.”

Jongdae throws a lazy warning look in Lu Han’s direction. Seulgi laughs, and thankfully, they move on to lighter topics, like where Seulgi’s travelled around the world, where she grew up and why she came back. She talks about studying in Europe as a kid, spending her teen years in America, but wanting to kickstart her fashion company in Asia.

Their table goes through six more bottles of soju. The alcohol makes Jongin feel lighter and braver, and after a while, he grabs Kyungsoo’s hand and twines their fingers together. They share a little smile when everyone else is too wrapped up in the conversation to notice. When Kyungsoo leans over, smelling sharp and sweet and delicious, and tells Jongin he needs to use the bathroom, Jongin jumps up with him. “Me too,” he says, embarrassingly fast, and Kyungsoo rolls his eyes.

Inside the bathroom, Jongin pins Kyungsoo against the door, hips pressed together, and licks through his mouth, nibbling his lip, and the low gasp Kyungsoo lets out is addicting, making Jongin’s chest flare like a match. “Sorry, I really needed to do that, hyung,” Jongin chuckles, kissing Kyungsoo’s neck, and he _feels_ Kyungsoo shiver.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Kyungsoo murmurs, Adam’s Apple bobbing just as Jongin’s lips graze over his throat.

Kyungsoo’s neck is so, so warm. And Jongin doesn’t want to pull away. The little sounds Kyungsoo makes beneath him are making Jongin braver, and instead of stepping back, Jongin finds Kyungsoo’s pulse and nips at the skin. Swipes his tongue softly. Then less softly. Kyungsoo, sounding more dazed and heady than Jongin had ever thought possible, whispers “Baby… please—” and then Jongin is fully sucking at Kyungsoo’s neck like he needs it to survive.

“Jongin, Jonginnie,” Kyungsoo makes a breathless noise, a chuckle or a moan, or something in between. “You’re gonna leave a mark—“

True enough, when Jongin does pull away, half-hard and out of breath, checking their reflections in the mirror, the spot under Kyungsoo’s jaw is dark, dark red and Jongin shouldn’t love the way that looks so much. But he really, really does.

“Oops,” he mutters, and Kyungsoo punches his arm, but without much force.

“You brat,” Kyungsoo sighs, but when Jongin pecks his cheek to say sorry, he catches his manager smiling.

Jongin returns to the table first. Lu Han says Soojung went home, feeling sick, and Seulgi stepped out to take a phone call. Jongin goes out the back door to find Seulgi leaning against the wall, a cigarette between her fingers and her phone cradled in her shoulder.

“Oh, unnie, I’ll call you back,” Seulgi looks over at Jongin, as she hangs up.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt your call,” Jongin says.

“It’s all good. Just my sister.” Seulgi offers him her cigarette and Jongin shakes his head. Kyungsoo wouldn’t be happy if he smelled the smoke on his clothes. (Or on his lips.) “Your friends are so energetic. I’m really happy you invited me.”

Jongin leans against the wall beside her. “I’m happy you came.”

“I wasn’t sure if,” she shrugs. “If you were serious about hanging out and being friends. Even after the whole marriage meeting thing.”

“I don’t really ask a person to be my friend on a whim,” Jongin chuckles. “Only if I really mean it.”

“Is Krystal your ‘someone’?” Seulgi blurts out.

Jongin blinks. “What?”

“You said before you didn’t have a girlfriend. But you did have _someone_.” She chuckles, awkwardly. “I think Krystal seems like a nice person, but… she seemed a little uncomfortable with me. Like she misunderstood our friendship.”

“Oh,” Jongin crosses his arms against his chest. It’s cold out. He should have brought his coat. “Soojung is my best friend, but we’re not like that, at all.”

“I see,” Seulgi stomps her cigarette out. “Does she know that?”

If Jongin is being honest with himself (which isn’t something he’s quite good at yet), he isn’t sure. Over the years, Jongin thought they were close like siblings. He was always looking out for her, and she was always keeping him in line. Relying on him. Making him feel needed and purposeful.

_“Do you know that you look at him the way Soojung looks at you?”_

Jongin hadn’t thought much deeper about those words when Kyungsoo first said them. There had been too many things racing in his head that night. But afterwards, when his mind was clearer, it made him recalculate every look Soojung’s ever given him. And…

“I’m not sure,” Jongin says, truthfully. “I guess there’s a lot I want to talk to her about. I’m not great at opening up. Even to my best friend.”

Seulgi smells like vanilla. Something in her shampoo maybe, because when she flips her hair over her shoulder, looking Jongin straight in the eyes, he gets a big whiff and it’s saccharine sweet.

“Then if not Krystal…” she says, and even before the words leave her mouth, something inside of Jongin tenses, as if bracing for impact.

Jongin realizes she knows. Because she’s waiting, patiently, for Jongin to give her permission. He realizes he should shake his head, come up with something to stop her from asking what he knows she’ll ask. But not ten minutes ago, he had Kyungsoo pinned against his body, sucking marks into his pale skin. And it’s ridiculous. It’s ridiculous to come up with any other answer.

He nods once, slowly.

Seulgi licks her lips. “Your manager. Do Kyungsoo-ssi?” she says, and all of the air rushes out of Jongin’s lungs.

“I—” He looks over at her, and her expression is thoughtful but not… not what Jongin had thought it’d be. “Yes.”

She smiles. “He’s handsome.”

Jongin rubs the back of his neck. It’s freezing outside, but his skin is burning. “I didn’t realize I was that obvious.”

Unexpectedly, Seulgi laughs. “Honestly, Jongin, it wasn’t that hard. You said you read _Flower Boy Book Shop_ , after all.”

Jongin snorts, a bubbly warmth simmering in his stomach. “I’m so embarrassing, aren’t I?” he mumbles, because he might not be into girls, but seeing how dorky he sounds to someone like Kang Seulgi still makes him blush.

“Well, it’s not just that,” she shrugs, holding up her hand. “I thought I saw your hands under the table. Wasn’t sure if it was my imagination at first.”

“Damn,” Jongin mutters, kicking at the ground. “I really should work on being discreet.”

“Maybe. You _are_ an idol,” Seulgi says. “But also, if you want my unsolicited advice as a new friend?” She lets her hand fall on his shoulder. “You shouldn’t feel like you have to hide anything, Jongin. At least not around the people that matter.”

When they rejoin the group, everyone is ready to call it a night, even though it’s barely midnight. Lu Han grumbles about wanting to hit up a night club, like the good old times, but Jongdae just flicks his ear, hailing down a cab as Kris laughs beside him. Yixing stands outside with them, hands in the pockets of his denim.

“Thanks for stopping by,” he tells them. “It’s good to see you guys keeping Jongin sane.”

Kris smacks Yixing’s arm. “Hey, don’t talk like we never shared a dorm room with you too, Yixing. It was good to seeing you. Kind of jealous that you’re out here mixing drinks and living the good life,” he chuckles, then switches to Mandarin. Jongin catches words like _Lu Han_ and _busy_ and _more time together_. He says something that makes Yixing laugh, pulling Kris into a hug, before piling into the taxi behind Jongdae and Lu Han.

Kyungsoo steps up to the curb, peering down the street for another cab. Seulgi comes up next to him, says something Jongin can’t hear, and Kyungsoo smiles at her.

“Seulgi is not at all like I thought she’d be,” Yixing says to Jongin.

“You mean she’s too pretty to be friends with me?”

Yixing rolls his eyes. “You _know_ you’re the prettiest, Jonginnie. Don’t fish for compliments.” He flits his eyes over, clearing his throat. He’s gotten a perm since Jongin last saw him. The curls look good on him. “Does Seulgi… know?”

Jongin blows hot air onto his cold hands. “She figured it out.”

“Ah.”

Jongin chuckles dryly, shaking his head. “You don’t even sound surprised.”

“You always know how to keep good people around,” Yixing shrugs, and the smile he sends Jongin next is much more sly than usual. “You’re lucky your other friends are much denser.” He pokes Jongin’s neck with force, winking. “Because that mark you left on Kyungsoo is _massive_.”

Jongin blushes, despite himself. “I… didn’t realize…” he huffs, rubbing his head and avoiding Yixing’s eyes. “I just got carried away.”

Yixing laughs, almost guffaws. It’s the loudest Jongin’s heard him laugh in a long time. “I’m happy you’re getting carried away, Jongin-ah.”

Finally, a cab stops next to Kyungsoo and he pulls open the door for Seulgi. She waves at Jongin and Yixing before patting Kyungsoo’s arm and sliding in. “Also, you know I’m not trying to force you into anything,” Yixing says. “But maybe… maybe, you should think about talking to Soojung soon.”

“Soojung…” Jongin sighs. “I—I know.”

Kyungsoo watches Jongin over his shoulder tentatively. When he catches his gaze, he smiles and looks away. And even from here – God, even all the way from where he’s standing – he can see the dark spot under Kyungsoo’s jaw.

“Hey, I said you keep good people around, right?” Yixing’s dimpled smile is calming. “Have some faith, Jongin. Even if it’s scary.”

Later in the cab, Jongin thinks he has never been more scared in his life. Even as he grabs Kyungsoo’s hand, as he lets Kyungsoo fall asleep on his shoulder, as he focuses on the warmth seeping in through his jacket, into his skin, and into his heart. It’s scary. Terrifying.

And still, Jongin can only pull him closer.

⊰ ⊱

Once spring's in full bloom, Jongin starts filming for his new drama. His character is a rice farmer who meets Im Yoona’s character, a _chaebol_ running away from her life in Seoul. It’s a different character than he’s used to playing, and he likes working with Yoona, but it means he spends the month of April all the way down in Jeonju, and doesn’t see Kyungsoo once. Jongin had begged Kyungsoo to come with him, but Kyungsoo had other responsibilities at the company. There’s a new boy group debuting and Kyungsoo had to train new managers, fill in for vocal coaches, on top of figuring out the logistics of Jongin’s schedule for the rest of the year.

Jongin’s interim manager was a small and intimidating woman named Bae Joohyun. She’s nice enough, but much more hawk-eyed about Jongin’s diet, which makes it hard to sneak nighttime snacks into his room. He calls Kyungsoo every night, and they talk until Kyungsoo insists Jongin needs to get more than five hours of sleep before a full day of filming.

“I can’t wait to see you again. Just two more days,” Jongin mumbles sleepily into his phone. He imagines Kyungsoo wrapped in his sheets, and it makes him smile. “You’re still wearing my sweaters to bed, right?”

Kyungsoo chuckles, raspy and low, and Jongin’s stomach spins like a washing machine. “So territorial,” Kyungsoo says. “But yes. I am.”

“Good,” Jongin grins. “Joohyun-noona and I will get dropped off at the company on Monday afternoon. Meet me there?”

“Of course.”

“Good night, hyung,” says Jongin. “Dream of me.”

“You’re cheesy,” Kyungsoo sighs, but then he adds quietly, “Sleep well.”

Jongin chews on his lip. He’s too sleepy to be embarrassed. It’s late, and he’s tired, and he misses Kyungsoo so much it hurts. “Love you, hyung.”

Kyungsoo chuckles again, and it sounds even brighter. “Love you too.”

⊰ ⊱

“You’re going to Soojung’s thing tonight, right?” Kyungsoo asks once they’ve made it back to Jongin’s apartment on Monday.

Jongin pulls two fresh mugs out from under the coffee machine. He hands one to Kyungsoo, black, and dumps sugar in his own. Kyungsoo hardly bats an eyelash at this now. “Soojung’s thing?” Jongin echoes, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Kyungsoo blows on his coffee. “Yeah. Early birthday celebration at her place since her tour starts next week.”

“I…” Jongin frowns. Soojung hadn’t said anything about a birthday party. He glances up at Kyungsoo, lips pursed above the steam of his mug. “I think Soojung and I are fighting.”

Kyungsoo quirks an eyebrow. “Is this about that night when we all hung out with Kang Seulgi?”

“I don’t know,” Jongin says. It could be that night, but he figures it’s also a lot of other things, too.

Kyungsoo sighs, setting his mug on the counter. He loops his thumbs into Jongin’s denim pockets and pulls him close. “Come tonight,” he says, voice muffled against Jongin’s chest. “Come, anyways.”

Later that night, right as Kyungsoo’s getting ready to leave and Jongin’s about to tell him he can’t make it because he's still a coward who can't text his best friend first, his phone lights up with a message from Soojung.

_Having an early birthday party tonight. No presents, just bring food. Please come?_

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo reaches for his elbow. “Ready to go?”

Jongin takes a breath. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

At the door, Soojung hugs them both and takes them into the living room, and for most of the night, everything feels normal. They put on a movie for the first hour, but Lu Han gets restless and insists on a Super Smash Bros tournament.

Kyungsoo has never played before, and Yixing teaches him patiently, and after a few rounds, he’s managed to beat Lu Han twice. Jongin gets eliminated early because he’s never been good enough to keep up with people like Jongdae and Soojung, both too competitive for their own good. In the final round, Soojung beats Jongdae without much effort, and Jongdae doesn’t look nearly as upset as he’d usually be. Jongin squints at him, suspiciously.

When it’s time to cut the cake, they all gather round to sing Soojung happy birthday, and Yixing guffaws at how terrible and off key they all are. (“I thought you guys were singers,” he mumbles, and only Kyungsoo shares his laugh.)

“Sorry I texted you so late,” Soojung says, when she’s found him out in the balcony, nursing a cold can of beer.

Jongin shakes his head. “It’s okay. You’re extra busy these days, things can slip your mind.”

“It didn’t slip my mind,” Soojung replies, pointedly, and it stings but maybe he deserves that.

“Yeah,” he sighs, wishing he had a drink to occupy his hands too. “Well, you shouldn’t be sorry. I know… things are weird between us right now. And I know it’s my fault.”

Soojung scoffs, but when he looks over at her, her jaw isn’t locked tight in the way he knows it does when she gets angry. There’s something behind her eyes that’s trembling. He wishes he could hug her.

“Jongin, jeez, nothing is your _fault_. But I,” she throws her hands up, sounding exasperated. “Listen. We’re supposed to be _best friends_ , right? You know everything about me. You were the one who could read me like an open book and honestly, that saved me on my worst days. It still does,” she takes a long gulp from her beer can. She’s drinking Cass. Jongin hates Cass and he’d usually make a joke about it, but right now, all he can do is steady himself against the railing of her balcony and stare out at the city below them.

“But then, the more I thought about it, the more I realized I never felt like I really knew _you_. Like, I didn’t know you still see Yixing all the time? At his bar in Hongdae? And… and you had a marriage meeting with Kang Seulgi, of all people, and—”

“She’s really just a friend—”

“No, that’s not the point, Jongin!” Soojung’s fist clenches white around the railing. She drinks her beer again, but chugs much longer this time. “I… I did like you. A lot. In the very recent past.” She says it more easily than Jongin had thought. Even if he’d been half-expecting it at this point, it still makes him breathless, like a punch to his gut. “But eventually, I knew you didn’t feel the same way. And I, you know, decided to start getting over you.”

Jongin’s toes curl in his shoes. It’s warm outside tonight, but he still feels a chill. “You’re way too good to pine over someone like me,” he tells her, honestly.

Soojung frowns, making an irritated noise. “You always talk like you’re not a good person, and that’s infuriating because I loved you for so long,” she counters. “I really had to tell myself you didn’t like me back because you just didn’t see me in a romantic way and that was fine. I could handle that. But to not even… trust me, as a friend?” Her voice cracks on the last word, and it makes that uncomfortable lump in Jongin’s throat expand. He reaches for her hand, the one clutching the railing. She flinches, but doesn’t move away.

“I _was_ jealous of Seulgi. But not for the reason you think,” she goes on. “She seemed like she really _knew you_. Like, you were so comfortable with her, even though she’d just met you. And I just felt like I was the only person in that room who you couldn’t even look in the eyes.” She glances at him, lips pressed against the rim of her beer can to muffle her words. “ _That’s_ what hurt, Jongin.”

Soojung’s hand is cold. He squeezes it tightly before pulling back. “I never meant to make you feel like that, Soojung. I’m really sorry,” he shakes his head and his voice is trembling. It hasn’t trembled like this in years. Not since he was a rookie about to go on stage. This is much more terrifying than any performance he’s ever had to do.

“It’s much easier to tell your secrets to a stranger, you know?” he says quietly. “You’re my best friend and that’s exactly why I’m so…” He inhales, like he’s about to dunk his head underwater. “More than _anyone_ , you’re someone I couldn’t lose. And the idea of you not being my friend anymore was just too much—"

Soojung’s eyes turn into saucers. “Why would you ever lose me, Jongin?”

Jongin swallows. “I don’t like Seulgi like that.”

“You’ve said that.”

“And I would’ve loved to like you like _that_ too, but the truth is…” his hands are shaking and he realizes he’s never said it before. Not really. Maybe not even to himself. “The truth is I haven’t liked any of my girlfriends. Like that.”

“Wait,” Soojung grips his arm. “Jongin… you’re—”

“Gay,” he finishes. “Yeah. I’ve never actually, um, said that. Out loud.”

She stares at him, unreadable and unblinking, and he pushes out the rest of his words before he loses all his courage again. “I thought I’d never be in love for the rest of my life,” he chuckles softly. “I thought maybe it was just something I didn’t need. That I could live without it and be happy because I had millions of people who could, at least, love a version of me.” Soojung’s grip slackens on his arm.

“But I had moments of weakness, of course. Like Joonmyun-hyung.”

“Jesus, Jongin,” Soojung turns around, setting down her beer on the nearby table. “What the hell? How could you…” Jongin holds his breath, and when she whirls around, she looks worried, maybe angry, but not… not shame. Not disgust. “ _Why_ ,” she punches his arm, “would you go through all of that, _this whole time_ , by yourself, you idiot!” She grabs his shoulders and shakes him physically. He almost wants to laugh at how strong she is, despite her size, but he’s still trying to process all her words.

“You went and _punched_ a guy at a bar after oppa got engaged and I didn’t think anything of it…” She sighs, punches his chest, before leaning back against the railing. “I’m supposed to be _here for you_ , Jongin.”

He exhales. “I couldn’t tell you, Soojung, I thought you’d be—”

“I would _never_ , Jongin,” she cuts him off, and now even the anger that had been on her face has softened. “There are a million things a day I judge you for, but this…” she pinches his cheek, with much less force this time. “This would never be one of them. Don’t ever think that.”

“I thought I could shut my feelings off, but it turns out, it’s not that easy,” Jongin sighs, the breeze cooling the heat on his skin, and finally, finally he feels like a world has been lifted off his shoulders.

“I… I’m in love with Kyungsoo,” he says. “More in love than I ever thought possible.”

“Kyungsoo-oppa? I—” Her jaw drops. She stares at him, then glances at the glass door to the living room where Kyungsoo’s trying to duck and weave out of Jongdae’s headlock. “I was gonna say I’m shocked, but I guess I’m not…” she raises an eyebrow, catching Jongin’s expression, and Jongin realizes he’s smiling as he watches them.

He clears his throat, flushed. “I’m sorry I kept things from you, I was just so scared. For so long.”

“I’m not happy you shut me out. But I… forgive you,” Soojung rolls her eyes, grumbling. She swipes her beer can again, setting her shoulders straight. “But if you _ever_ suffer in silence instead of talking to me, I will castrate you, Kim Jongin.”

Jongin laughs, feeling ten pounds lighter. “Noted,” he says. They watch as Jongdae drunkenly tries to straddle Kyungsoo, and Kyungsoo kicks him pointedly in the thigh. The group erupts into laughter.

“Speaking of love,” Jongin adds, because he’s a little drunk on alcohol and happiness, “you should probably return Jongdae’s googly eyes one of these days.”

Soojung blushes. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking.”

Another tournament has begun when they head back inside. Jongin settles into the couch next to Kyungsoo, whose nibbling on a piece of cake while chasing the sweetness down with coffee. “It’s too late for caffeine,” Jongin says, wrapping an arm around Kyungsoo’s shoulders.

“It’s my job to boss _you_ around, brat,” Kyungsoo mutters, and there’s frosting at the side of his mouth that Jongin can’t stop staring at.

“And I love it when you do,” Jongin grins, wiping at the frosting with his thumb then licking it off.

Kyungsoo stiffens, and reaches for a napkin. “Jongin,” he hisses. “Don’t—"

“So that’s where Kyungsoo’s hickeys are coming from,” Jongdae laughs, peering at the two of them over the phone. Lu Han, Kris, and Yixing drop their controllers. Kyungsoo chokes on his cake.

“That’s—” he mutters, pounding his chest and moving out of Jongin’s embrace. Soojung hands him a glass of a water. “Not funny. Don’t make dumb jokes—”

“No, you’re right, Jongdae.”

Kyungsoo digs his elbow into Jongin’s stomach and Jongin smiles softly, patting his cheek. “It’s okay, hyung,” he mutters, then forces himself not to stare down at his feet. His friends are watching him with a myriad of confused expressions. “Kyungsoo and I are dating. For a while now.”

The sound of Super Smash Bros battle music plays loudly out of the TV speakers, but his friends are blinking at him, utterly silent. Jongdae gapes, but then tilts his head to the side, seemingly in contemplation.

After an eternity (that might just be a few seconds), Lu Han smacks Kris’ arm, chuckling, “Told you,” and they all pick up their controllers again. Yixing grins at Jongin gently before turning back to the TV. It’s Jongin’s turn to gape.

Soojung just shakes her head, stealing a joy-con right out of Kris’ hands so she can join in on the next match. Kyungsoo relaxes against Jongin, and Jongin is so full of glee, he thinks he might explode.

Instead, he pulls Kyungsoo closer to him, kisses his cheek like he’s wanted to do all night, and relishes the way Kyungsoo’s face turns pink.

There are a lot of things he still needs to do. He wants to finally book that trip to Berlin and see his sister. He wants to call Joonmyun and maybe… maybe go to his wedding.

He’d like to visit his parents. Not today, but one day soon.

But for now, this is more than enough. This is everything.

⊰ ⊱

The first episode of Jongin’s SBS drama airs at the start of September. His interviewer is young and snappy, and has a glint in his eyes behind his wireframe glasses that make him look very eager to corner Jongin with questions that hadn’t been on the prep sheet.

“Your chemistry with Im Yoona is trending!” The interviewer says, and Jongin can see the graphic that the editing team will add in post-production. Some pop-up of the Naver top search list for that week, probably with his and Yoona’s faces side-by-side. They’ll pick a photo of them from the press conference a few days ago that’s extra touchy. “People are already saying you two might get nominated for the couple award this year.”

Jongin laughs. “Well, it’s hard not to have good with chemistry with someone like Yoona-sunbae.”

The interviewer’s eyes turn sharp, even if he masks it with a chuckle. “You’re saying you don’t need to fake being in love with her?”

“I…” Jongin feels the heat of the studio lights melting against his makeup-caked skin. “Well, I know what it’s like to be in love. So that’s why it’s easy.”

“Really? Is this going to get you in trouble, Kai-ssi?” the interviewer laughs, but he’s scooted forward to the edge of his seat.

Behind the camera, Kyungsoo is absolutely giving him death eyes, making an X with his arms and not bothering to be subtle about it. He looks angry or embarrassed (or both), but also perfectly adorable, even with his hair all lopsided from where Jongin had ruffled it playfully in the van a half hour ago.

“I’ve met someone who I care about very much,” Jongin says simply. “A non-celebrity.”

Kyungsoo’s death glare twitches and he goes completely pale. Jongin runs his palms along his thighs, trying to calm the blood pounding loudly in his ears. “Protecting their privacy is important to me. I’m really happy with them, and I know my fans will be happy for me, too. So I’d like to be honest with everyone.”

Kyungsoo is comically red, clenching and unclenching his fists. It makes one of the producers beside him giggle behind her clipboard.

“They do indeed sound… very special,” the interviewer says, eyeing Kyungsoo’s gaze apprehensively with a light laugh. “And given your manager’s expression right now, maybe we should leave it there?”

Jongin smiles, folding his hands in his lap. “Maybe we should.”

Later, in the van, Kyungsoo lectures him non-stop the entire way home about all the reasons why Jongin had been very stupid, and why that interview was an absolute train wreck that will reflect very poorly on the ratings of the drama and possibly his career for at least the rest of the year. He’s flustered out of his mind, in a way Jongin has never seen before, and he feels bad about the PR shit storm they’ll have to deal with tomorrow, but he definitely doesn’t feel bad about the way Kyungsoo’s ears are still pink, even as he tries to stay angry.

And when Jongin lifts him up onto the kitchen counter mid-rant, stopping it short to kiss into Kyungsoo’s mouth gently, Kyungsoo melts right into Jongin’s arms, just like Jongin knew he would. He tastes the coffee on Kyungsoo’s tongue, he smells the cologne on his sweater, and he feels the heat of his skin on his palms.

“You are so dumb,” Kyungsoo grumbles, against Jongin’s slicked lips. His dark eyes are bright when he smiles, lit up like a fireworks show, and Jongin wants to bask in each and every colour. “The dumbest.”

“I am,” Jongin says, planting a light kiss on Kyungsoo’s nose. “For you, I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u made it to the end !!
> 
> i srsly never thought i'd finish this fic but i miss living in seoul and kept itching to write about it. to ppl who are still reading my fics even now, again thank u thank u thank u ♡


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